


All this; it's Heaven (But it's not You)

by 221blackandwhitestripes



Series: Riddlebird Week 2018 [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruises, Day Three: Pining/Crush, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Episode: S03E08 Blood Rush, Episode: s03e07 Red Queen, First Kiss, First Time, Flashbacks, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, French History, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Making Love, Mistakes Are Made, Misunderstandings, Not that They'll Remember, Panic Attacks, Poetry, Riddlebird Week, Season/Series 03, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-19 07:58:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14869799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221blackandwhitestripes/pseuds/221blackandwhitestripes
Summary: Edward goes with Oswald to the Founders' Dinner. Drunken mistakes are made, and the two of them must deal with the consequences.Riddlebird Week, Day Three: Pining/Crush





	1. Oswald

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much entirely inspired by [this](https://nygmob-shan.tumblr.com/post/172517398059/imagine-if-ed-didnt-have-that-date-and-went-to) post from ages ago which said: _Imagine if Ed didn’t have that date and went to the thing with Oswald (when he helped Oswald get dressed) and drunken shenanigans took place_  
>  This is probably more angsty than the prompter had in mind, but oh well, I hope they see this anyway :)

“You are going to cut quite the fine figure at the Founders’ dinner tonight.” Ed helped Oswald into his long-tailed suit jacket, hands smoothing down the shoulders in an almost-caress that sent Oswald’s heartbeat racing. Oswald promptly fastened the buttons, watching the two of them in the mirror. 

“Yes,” Oswald agreed shortly, knowing it was best to indulge Ed in his compliments rather than insist once more that he was unworthy of the praise. His hands swiftly moved from his buttons to his cufflinks, fastening them with a well-practised ease. 

“Did you know that this dinner has been thrown annually for over two hundred years?” He asked, turning his head to meet Ed’s gaze directly instead of through the mirror. Edward looked him over, adjusting his jacket with the air of ‘final touches’. “It was started by the first families in Gotham. Only the most powerful citizens are invited.”

Ed nodded at him, their eyes meeting before he returned to his new task of collecting lint off Oswald’s jacket.

“We’re lucky I managed to procure us a last-minute plus-one,” Oswald said, trying not to let his excitement and anticipation show too strongly, lest Ed get the wrong idea. Or, rather the right idea, that Oswald didn’t want him to know nonetheless.

“Indeed,” Edward agreed in that rumbling voice he gets when he’s thinking deeply.

“May I ask what is occupying your mind, dear friend?” Oswald clipped, snagging another glance at Ed’s figure in the mirror like a child snatching cookies from a jar.

“Oh, just Isabella,” Edward sighed, his voice dipping into something dreamlike and hazy. Oswald pursed his lips, nose unconsciously wrinkling at the mention of that name.

“I imagine last night left quite the impression,” Oswald said eventually, hating how his indulgent laugh stuck falsely in his throat.

Last night was supposed to have been _their_ night. But then that woman came along and ruined everything.

“You could say that,” Ed mused, a smile curling at his lips as he sighed.

“Yes, seeing as you claim to be in love with her after only knowing her for a few hours,” Oswald replied, a dark bitterness coating his tongue.

“The heart keeps its own time,” Edward answered joyfully.

Oswald flinched, unable to contain the spark of flaring pain in his chest when reminded how cruel time had been to him. Perhaps Edward was correct, and fate truly existed, and this was its taunt; he had all the time to be with Ed when he didn’t want him, and when he did want him, it was always too late. A toying, frustrating, cat and mouse game.

Oswald refused to let this beat him.

“I’m partial to the purple,” Ed said, breaking Oswald from his sharp-tugging thoughts as he draped tie over Oswald’s shoulder with a smile of his lips.

“Broché brings out my eyes,” Oswald told him, not wanting to comply. Edward moved away to fetch the other tie. Small victories. “Are you sure you aren’t mistaking infatuation for love? You did say she is the spitting image of Kringle.”

“Isabella’s beautiful,” Ed gushed. _I doubt it_ , Oswald thought darkly. “And smart.” _Wow, two whole things!_ “So, she bears a passing resemblance to Kristen. It’s just the universe telling me...” Ed waved his hands about, “Telling me I have a second chance at love.”

_Really?_

“You’re right about the Broché.” Ed held up the tie proudly. Oswald smirked.

“Is your suit quite ready?” he asked, diverting the conversation.

“Yes, it’s fantastic!” Ed chirped.

“I was afraid it wouldn’t be done on time. Of course, that’s the risk for short notice garments, but I simply _had_ to get you something for tonight. You deserve it,” Oswald explained.

“Thank you.” Edward grinned, his smile so genuine, Oswald could believe for a moment that Isabelle didn’t exist, that it was just them and no one else. That tonight was a date where they’d hold hands and slow dance. And, when they came home, Ed would take him to bed, kiss him until he’d melted into the sheets and then take him apart.

“Do you…” Oswald trailed off, realizing belatedly that it wasn’t entirely appropriate to offer Ed help in his own dressing. “You know what? Never mind.”

“Oh, but now I’m curious.” Ed took another step forward, and now he was _too_ close, the man’s scent drifting to Oswald’s nose, skin so close, it wouldn’t take much for Oswald to stick out his tongue and run it along the other man’s clavicle.

“I-I seem to have f-forgotten,” Oswald stuttered, forcing a smile under Ed’s avid gaze. Ed frowned at him, clearly unconvinced.

“That seems to be happening an awful lot lately,” he commented, cooly.

“How strange,” Oswald laughed, rather nervously. “Per-perhaps I am becoming ill. You- you might be so kind as to see that an appointment with a doctor is scheduled for me.”

“Nonsense, I’ll examine you myself,” Ed reprimanded. God, it took every bone in Oswald’s body not to swoon.

“Perhaps tomorrow. I’m sure, whatever it is, it’ll wait for one night,” Oswald assured him as convincingly as he could.

“Well, alright.” Ed _finally_ stepped back, smiling softly. “Now, I hope you don’t mind if I skedaddle. I still need to change, make arrangements for the press conference next week, and ensure the security detail for tonight are ready.”

“Well, don’t strain yourself,” Oswald told him. “I can’t have my Chief of Staff feeling overworked.”

“No, sir.” Ed mock-saluted, throwing him a wink. Heat crawled up Oswald’s neck, and he resolutely tried to tamp down his blush.

“Be off with you,” Oswald huffed, his hoarse voice no doubt ruining his reprimand. Ed just smiled, turning away and leaving the room.

God, could Oswald love him even more?

♠ ♠ ♠

“May I offer you a glass of champagne, Mr Mayor?”

“Yes, thank you,” Oswald accepted, snatching the glass from the waiter's tray without a glance in his direction. Who could blame him, when Edward was standing so near, looking into his eyes as he informed him on the current shareholders for Gotham’s most economically acclaimed businesses? Why was this the story? Oswald couldn’t tell.

“-And, of course, there’s Mr Buik. Ooh, he’s here tonight, isn’t he? I would love to teach that man a lesson in mathematics. Perhaps he’ll realize how big of a loss it was, hiring that _nincompoop_ , DT. For one, he _actually_ calls himself that! Was that not insight alone into his mental prowess?” Ed spat, reaching for a glass of champagne too.

Oswald smirked. “You do get so fired up by these things, my friend.”

“For good reason,” Edward rumbled darkly, glaring at the room as he took a sip from his flute. Oswald did the same, enjoying the tickling in his nose as he swallowed down the bubbles.

“This is _good_ champagne,” Oswald enthused, taking another long pull.

“I’ll get you another if you like?” Ed offered with a smile, taking another sip of his own champagne.

“I’ve not even finished this one!” Oswald protested.

“Then you better finish it while I get another glass. These flutes barely hold anything, they really are rather impractical,” Edward lamented.

“Fine,” Oswald huffed with an exasperated smile, watching as Ed turned away. “But you need one for yourself! I won’t be the only one drinking, here!”

“Yes, sir!” Ed mock saluted, before walking away. Oswald sighed, watching him go, swallowing the irrational lump in his throat as Ed drifted further and further away.

He turned away, only to find himself colliding head-on with a waiter in a bowtie, spilling the content of his flute everywhere.

“Watch where you’re going!” Oswald spat, shaking the droplets from his soaked sleeve.

“Of course, Mr Mayor. So sorry,” The man apologized, smiling blandly.

“Cretin,” Oswald hissed after him, watching him leave.

“I agree completely, but who are we talking about?” Oswald turned to see Ed, smiling warmly as he held out another glass of champagne.

“I’m talking about that _imbecile_ who had the _audacity_ to spill the rest of my drink on me,” Oswald spat, wiping his front down frustratedly.

Ed frowned, looking Oswald up and down. “Do you want me to get the salt?”

“No, no. I don’t think it will stain,” Oswald placated.

“Still…” Ed turned, snatching up a napkin before turning back, meeting Oswald’s watching eye. Oswald’s breath caught as Ed’s hand brushed against his chest, warmth seeping through the fabric to replace the cool splash of champagne. Ed continued to wipe him down, making his way down to Oswald’s sleeve.

“There,” he concluded, scrunching up the soiled napkin and handing it to a passing waiter.

“Thank you.” Oswald cleared his throat, struggling to tamp down the heat blooming across his cheeks.

“No trouble,” Ed assured him, his grin not helping Oswald’s situation.

“Yes, well,” Oswald coughed, “I suppose we better go... mingle.”

“Okay,” Ed agreed, stepping up beside him as Oswald turned to survey the room.

“H-how about you go that way, and I’ll go this way and then-”

“We’ll meet in the middle,” Ed concurred with a warm smile.

“Exactly.” Oswald nodded, swallowing thickly. “It’ll be over before we know it.”

♠ ♠ ♠

Oswald groaned, massaging his temples. He was so sick of all this… _schmoozing_. He was the Mayor of Gotham, dammit, he shouldn’t have been belittling himself to these moronic penny-snatchers, not to mention their husbands, the cradle-snatchers. It was absolutely despicable.

“Here, I got you another.” Oswald turned, his frustration fading under Ed’s kind smile and the sight of another flute of champagne.

“Oh, thank _God_ ,” Oswald exclaimed, snatching up the drink and downing it immediately.

“I’d call that a waste, but, well,” Ed shrugged, “we’re in Gotham.”

Oswald snorted, licking his lips to sweep up the remaining droplets of champagne. “Would you be so kind as to get me another? And one for yourself.”

“Careful there, Oswald,” Ed tutted light-heartedly.

“I’m always careful,” Oswald replied confidently. Edward snorted and shook his head. “Oh, be off with you!”

Ed grinned, fluttering his eyelashes oh-so-innocently before sauntering away. Oswald took a moment to appreciate the fine work of his tailor. Ed’s trousers really were rather tight fitting, especially where it counted.

“Quite the charming young friend you have there.”

Oswald spun round, grip tightening on his cane as his cheeks flooded with head, realizing he’d been caught staring ( _again_. Usually it was Olga who caught him).

“Yes, he is rather… nice,” Oswald agreed, inhaling slowly to regain himself.

“Quite a catch, I’ll bet. Is he single?” The stranger asked. Oswald looked the peculiar woman up and down. She was _twice_ Ed’s age, at _least_.

“No, I’m afraid he isn’t,” Oswald grouched. “Although, I can _assure_ you, that even if he were single, Ed would never be interested.”

“Seeing as I had no intentions, that is perfectly acceptable,” the woman mused, looking down at Oswald with a raised eyebrow. “I must say, you don’t seem too pleased with your friend’s relationship status. Bad blood?”

“If you must know,” Oswald spat, “The woman he apparently is ‘in love’ with is somebody he met _last night_. She also happens to look exactly like his previous girlfriend who he _ki_ -”Oswald cleared his throat, “-quite liked.”

“How very unfortunate,” the woman purred. “Might I offer a suggestion?

“Please do.” Oswald gestured for her to go ahead. He needed another glass of champagne to knock back. Where on earth was Edward?

“Perhaps you should get rid of her.”

Oswald did a double-take, staring up at the woman incredulously. “You’d have me kill my Chief of Staff’s girlfriend?”

“Well, I never said _kill_ ,” the woman admonished, swivelling her neck in a snake-like gesture. “Only… prevent her desire to meet Edward again. But, should it come to it…”

Oswald pursed his lips. “I’m afraid you don’t know what you talking ab--oh, Ed, hello!”

“Hello,” Ed replied. “Sorry I was gone so long, but I figured you could use something stronger than champagne.” Ed held up a decanter of whiskey in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“God, you’re a lifesaver,” Oswald breathed, eyes glued to Ed’s as a smile pulled at his lips.

“Yes, he’s quite the catch.” Oswald startled at the interruption, turning to glare at the infuriating woman.

“Oh, Ed, this is…” Oswald tilted his head with a frown. “Sorry, I didn't quite catch your name.”

“Because you never cared to ask,” the woman sniped, glaring at Oswald with equal force. “It's _Kathryn_.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ed piped up, not doing much to diffuse the situation. “I'm Edward Nygma.”

“Yes,” Kathryn purred, “I know.”

“So, how did you end up at the Founders’ dinner?” Ed inquired. “If it's not rude to ask.”

“Not at all,” she cackled, dark and humourless. “I'm from one of Gotham's oldest families. And I'm part of a group which… _oversees_ things. “

Oswald shuffled his feet, his interest piquing reluctantly. “What sorts of things?”

“Everything that matters in Gotham,” Kathryn replied, airily. “We've had our eye on you for quite some time, Mr Cobblepot.”

Oswald gulped, his only refuge from the tipped-over bucket of dread being Ed's hand sliding over his arm comfortingly. He really could use that whiskey right about now.

“Who, exactly, are you?” Ed asked, tone as stiff as Oswald's spine and the drink he so desperately needed.

The dinner bell rang, disrupting the tension somewhat as Kathryn took it as a cue to leave.

“We'll contact you when the time is right,” she threw back over her shoulder haughtily. “Enjoy your evening.”

Oswald shivered as she left turning away.

“Well, that was…” Ed trailed off, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Oswald agreed wholeheartedly.

“So…” Ed began, turning to Oswald with a mischievous smirk. “Feel like skipping the first half of dinner to hide and drink ourselves stupid so we'll forget that ever happened?”

“Lead the way, Mr Nygma.” Oswald waved him forward.

♠ ♠ ♠

The wine cellar had a surprisingly easy lock to pick. Either that or Ed’s skills with his lockpicks had been greatly underestimated by Oswald.

Or perhaps he was tipsy and not really paying attention. 

“That’s the problem with these people,” Oswald crowed, leaning his head back against the wall as he observed Ed’s handywork. “They call themselves founders ‘cause all their grandmommies and granddaddies were here at some point. They haven’t done anything in this city, they haven’t made one change. They haven’t earned the right to be respected.”

“It’s open,” Ed told him, standing back up. After a moment where Oswald polished off the last of the scotch and Ed merely stared, Ed stepped back from the doorway.

“Thank you, good sir,” Oswald grinned, tipping an imaginary hat too far and losing his balance, causing him to stumble through the door.

“You okay?” Ed asked, the smile in his voice betraying any care in his words. Oswald straightened his waistcoat, huffing and sniffing derisively.

“That’s what happens when you refuse to drink more than one glass of whiskey,” Oswald grouched, scowling at the floor.

“I didn’t think it would be so strong,” Ed explained, wrinkling his nose. “How can you drink that all the time? It burns more than that time I set officer Crosby's car on fire.”

“You set a car on fire?” Oswald asked, half surprised, half impressed. He grinned up at Ed as he nodded seriously. “Well, look at that,” He commented, trying to saunter forward but ending up stumbling again.

“Careful,” Ed told him, steadying him by his shoulders. Oswald giggled, looking up at the bespectacled man he loved.

“If it isn’t little ol’ Eddie Nygma, completely innocent, wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Oswald praised. He reached up, taking Ed’s face in his hand before stroking his cheek with his thumb. “We both know that’s not true, don’t we?”

“Perhaps more alcohol wasn’t a good idea,” Ed questioned, peering down worriedly as he gently removed Oswald’s hand from his face.

“Nonsense,” Oswald spat, turning to regard the contents of the wine cellar. They certainly were well stocked, Oswald noted many of his favourite vintages among the collection. Spotting a 1947 St-Emilion Cheval Blanc, Oswald smiled, making his way to the expensive wine.

“No, Oswald!” Ed gasped as Oswald took hold of the bottle. “That’s- that’s near _priceless_ , you _cannot_ drink that!”

“Oh, I wasn’t gonna drink it, I was gonna smash it,” Oswald told him, grinning as he raised the bottle threateningly.

“No! No, Oswald that’s _murder_ , You can’t-”

“You should know by now that I’m not above such things,” Oswald commented, thrusting a finger at Ed. “And neither are you.”

Mr Leonard sprung to mind, slumped back in his chair as blood stained greedy hands and the darkwood floor.

“Still, I’d rather you drank it than broke it,” Ed told him, holding his hand out in a calming gesture. Oswald cocked his head.

“Only if you drink it too,” Oswald decided. Ed nodded in agreement. Oswald stumbled over, grinning everytime Ed winced. He slid down one of the glass cabinets, patting the space beside him as he pouted.

“Fine,” Ed grumbled, scowling as his knees clicked audibly when he sat down.

“Good boy,” Oswald crooned, handing the bottle over. Ed uncorked it, immediately passing it back. “Suit yourself,” Oswald shrugged, swigging a mouthful and swallowing.

“How can you drink it like that?” Ed asked incredulously, sighing when Oswald handed him the bottle again.

“This isn’t the best vintage I’ve had. It just gets hype because it’s expensive,” Oswald told him, smiling when Ed finally took a sip from the bottle. The red smeared against his lips, delicious and tempting like blood, drawing Oswald in. 

Oswald blinked as he realized he’d leant forward, immediately snapping back into place as his cheeks heated.

“Here,” Ed gave him back the bottle, politely bypassing Oswald's blunder, or perhaps he hadn't noticed it in the first place.

“Thanks,” Oswald said, taking a sip before wincing at the taste. “Actually, on second thought, you drink the overpriced wine since your so high and mighty, and I'll see if they have a good pinot noir.”

“ _I'm_ the high and mighty one?” Ed asked exasperatedly, but he still continued to drink it, so Oswald took it as a win.

He hummed in pleasure as he spotted a particular favourite of his, immediately selecting it from the shelf and popping the cork.

“Interesting choice, pinot noir,” Ed commented. Oswald rolled his eyes, lifting the bottle to has lips so he could gulp a good portion of it down. “Did you know that the pinot noir grape is one of France's oldest wine grapes, traceable back to the 1st century?”

“Fascinating,” Oswald replied, taking another swig.

“I'm glad you think so,” Ed told him, prompting Oswald to just chug his bottle while eyeing up another. “Did you know that pinot noir grapes are a variety of the species Vitis vinifera? Also, their name is derived from the French words for ‘pine’ and-”

_**Black.** _

“-Louis Philippe, and after that came the French Revolution, which ended the monarchy quite effectively. And then came Napoleon, who-”

“God, I'm getting a headache,” Oswald groaned, rubbing his temples. “If I knew you were just going to blather on about French history, I never would have gotten you drunk.”

“I knew you had ulterior motives!” Ed crowed triumphantly. “Speaking of which, did you know that Napoleon actually-”

“Okay, it's decided, we're going upstairs and getting you some food,” Oswald announced, getting to his feet with a hiss as his knees clicked. “Christ knows that I have no intentions of dealing with you unless you at least marginally sober up.”

“Speaking of Jesus Christ,” Ed began, thankfully accepting Oswald's hand up as he went down yet _another_ tangent. “Did you know that, against popular depictions, because he was from the middle east, he was actually-”

_**Black.** _

“-not my fault, detective.” Oswald shook his head firmly. “We were in the wine cellar the whole time.”

“The wine cellar, huh?” Bullock prompted, his eyebrows climbing impossibly higher up his brow. “And exactly how shitfaced are you two right now? “

Oswald gasped, rightfully horrified. “ _Sir_ , how dare you accuse me of such acts. I am the mayor of Gotham, and though my sexual preferences may seem unconventional to a man like you, I can assure you that never in my life have I had the slightest inclination to do anything so degrading.”

Bullock wrinkled his nose. “Gross. And I was asking how drunk you are. You're slurring your words and Nygma can barely stand.”

“Hey!” Oswald protested, rather disgruntled. “I have perfect enunciation, thank you very much.”

“He's right!” Ed finally piped up after swallowing the last mouthful of the Merlot he'd selected before they'd left the cellar. “Oswald would be wonderful at copulation!”

Oswald turned his head, frowning deeply in confusion as he met Ed's gaze.

“Speaking of copulation, did you know that Napoleon’s wife had-”

“No!” Oswald interrupted. “I told you, no more!” Ed pouted in response but stayed blessedly silent, so Oswald counted it as a win.

“Wow, you too sure are a pair!” Bullock commented. Oswald grumbled under his breath, vowing to glare at his stupid face as soon as it came back into focus.

“What happened here to cause such a kerfuffle?” Ed asked, staggering forward to lean on Oswald's shoulder.

“Poisoning,” Bullock explained shortly.

“The food?” Oswald inquired.

“No,” Bullock smirked, “the wine.”

Oswald blanched and Ed's bottle slipped from his hand to splinter into shards across the floor.

“Ed,” Oswald instructed, “would you be so kind as to call my driver? We're leaving.”

Oswald grabbed Ed's hand, steering him away. Ed was giggling like a mad thing, and he was lucky that Oswald loved him, otherwise, he'd have shot him by then just to get him to shut up.

“Lovely to see you again, Detective Bullock.” Oswald nodded to him as they passed. “I pray we don't meet again, and I wish you all the-”

_**Black.** _

“-worst driver I’ve ever had!” Oswald spat, actual saliva spraying from the corner of his mouth. The driver’s lips twitched, but he otherwise remained silent, much to Oswald’s chagrin.

“Get in the car, Ed!” Oswald instructed, pulling open the door in a strange reversal of roles. Ed obeyed without a word, sliding over politely to leave room for Oswald who climbed in and shut the door. The car’s tires screeched, signalling that they’d pulled away.

“I like it when you get all shouty,” Ed giggled, smiling happily. Oswald frowned, watching him smoosh his face into the shoulder of his suit-jacket.

“You’re different when you’re drunk,” Oswald observed, raising an eyebrow at the display.

“Nuh-uh,” Ed shook his head, accidentally knocking his glasses off his face. Oswald sighed, bending to pick them up.

“Here,” he said, handing the glasses back.

“You’re so nice, Ozzie,” Ed murmured, kissing the tip of Oswald’s nose. Heat flared in his cheeks as Oswald quickly turned away.

“I think I need another-”

_**Black.** _

“-drink my father used to give me,” Oswald explained, lifting the glass to his lips and sighing at the burn as it sloshed down his throat. “Try it.”

“Okay,” Ed chirped, snatching the glass right out of Oswald’s hand, downing half of it.

“Your own glass, Ed,” Oswald reprimanded, taking the glass back and swallowing another mouthful.

“But yours tastes better!” Ed whined, pouting.

Oswald rolled his eyes, finishing off the glass with a sigh. “See? Now there’s none left so you have to drink from your own glass.”

“Nuh-uh,” Ed shook his head fervently. And suddenly, he was leaning in, capturing Oswald lips with his own, tongue licking the whisky away before delving inside.

“Mmm, yummy,” Ed hummed, pulling back with a grin. Oswald sat there, motionless, brain struggling to comprehend what just happened.

“Ed,” Oswald coughed, setting down the empty glass. “Ed, I-I think it’s best that you go to bed.”

“No,” Ed whined, and Oswald inhaled sharply through his nose as a long, lanky leg threw itself over his thighs, Ed situating himself onto Oswald’s lap insistently. “I wanna stay here with you.”

“Ed...” Oswald tried, trailing off as Ed stroked a hand down his chest, lips brushing his ear.

“Please, Ozzie,” he whispered, Oswald’s breath catching at the brush of lips against his earlobe. “Please, Ozzie, I-”

_**Black.** _

“-need you,” Ed gasped as Oswald continued his trail of wet kisses down his neck. “Need you inside! Please, _Oswald_!”

Oswald was struggling to hold it together, tethering himself to reality with a strong grip on Ed’s hair, pulling his head back so he could bite a mark over his jugular. “Mine,” he growled, plastering himself along the lines of Ed’s body, fitting into his crevices as he rolled their hips together in a bass-beat rhythm. This had to be a dream, it was the only explanation. A wet one at that, with Edward gasping and moaning beneath him, a fucking fantasy dripping before him.

He continued unbuttoning the last of Ed’s shirt, throwing it in the general direction he’d thrown the rest of Ed’s clothes. He marvelled at the skin he’d revealed, running his hands down the flat of Ed’s stomach with helpless awe.

“What’s your secret, Ed?” Oswald asked, rolling one of Ed’s nipples between his fingers to watch him gasp.

“What?” Ed asked, breathless and wanton as his eyelashes fluttered.

“You’re so beautiful all the time, I don’t know how you manage it,” Oswald clarified, crawling down the bed as a wonderful idea lit up his mind.

“I don’t know what you me- _ah!_ ” Oswald took Ed’s nipple between his lips, sucking hard as Ed’s hips bucked and his head tilted back with a roar. “Oswald, please!” Ed begged. Oswald trailed his kisses even lower, sucking another mark on Ed’s hip, scraping over it with his teeth. Ed shook beneath him, clearly struggling to retain from any movement as Oswald shifted even _lower_. Ed’s cock was full and rosy, twitching beneath Oswald’s gaze, and Oswald’s mouth filled with saliva in anticipation. He lapped at the head, curious for a taste, praying that through the haze of alcohol, he’d still retain the flavour in the back of his mind.

“O-Oswald!” Ed pleaded as Oswald sucked him down, bobbing his head as best he could, wondering if he was really moving or if it was just the room bouncing up and down. Ed’s legs lifted to hook around his shoulders, and Oswald slid his hands down from Ed’s hips to grip his ass, holding him in place. His middle finger slipped, sliding across Ed’s hole almost delicately. The skin fluttered and Ed gasped, managing to buck his hips a considerable amount despite Oswald’s hold on him. No matter, though, because Oswald had just thought of a much better place to put his mouth.

Oswald slid down the bed sheets, pressing his face into Ed’s asscheeks. One touch of his tongue to Ed’s rim and Ed was already moaning.

“Ah! Ah! Oswald! Oswald! Oswald! Ah!” Oswald wondered for a moment if he’d accidentally broke Ed’s brain. “Oh, Oswald! Please! Please, f-fuck-”

_**Black.** _

“-harder, please! Harder!” Ed shouted. Oswald felt like he was drowning in Edward’s cries, the sound pushing his hips faster and faster. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he canted his head back, trying desperately to stave off his orgasm as long as possible.

Everything felt a little hazy and clumsy, the world blurring at the edges, and Oswald had been trying to stay quiet, but; “Fuck, Ed! Yes! Yes! Oh, you’re so fucking- I can’t-”

He was untethering, the ropes holding him in place fraying too easily. He pumped Ed’s cock harder with his fist, needing him to come first so he could see. He needed the image forever seared across his retinas so it’d be there every time he closed his eyes.

“Fuck, Oswald, Oswald! I’m- I’m-” Ed came with a shout, spilling across Oswald’s hand, muscles tightening around Oswald’s cock, enough to bring him to the brink as well. Oswald forced his eyes to remain open even as colours danced in his peripheral vision, the tableau of a strung-out, absolutely beautiful Ed too good to let his own orgasm get in the way.

When he said the words, it was a weight off his shoulders, vowels and consonants rolling off his tongue in the most beautiful form of release.

“Ed, I… I love-”

_**Black.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell, this story will have multiple chapters (I'm thinking 1 or 2 more. They will be up soon hopefully, provided life doesn't get in the way :)
> 
> Until then, as always, any and all kudos/comments are greatly appreciated!


	2. Edward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed wakes up with his face pressed against a pillow that isn’t his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise. I wrote something. You all really liked the first chapter so I decided to make this longer and to concentrate on finishing on it first before I focus on anything else. This chapter is a little angsty and very Isabella-heavy, which is surprising because I really hate her. Life and its curve balls, huh. Anyway, I wrote most of this last night between one am and four am, so...
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy, or at least don't be mad at me when you read this.

Ed woke up with his face pressed against a pillow that wasn’t his own. Confusion pulled at him, along with the consciousness that poured over him like the sunlight piercing through the curtains. His eyes resigned themselves to finally opening, fluttering eyelashes making way to an overexposed photograph, colours saturating and sharpening until everything was in focus.

Everything being Oswald Cobblepot’s sleeping face, slow breaths and lax features.

Ed paused, his brain struggling to reawaken under the piercing light and strange throbbing sensation. He decided he was still asleep, recognising this dream as one of many. He smiled, tucking his cheek back against the plush pillow, trying to number the freckles on Oswald’s nose but losing count in a matter of minutes.

Ed’s breath stuttered as he watched Oswald’s eyes flutter.

“ _Ed_ ,” he sighed. Ed had never heard his name spoken like that before; gentler than a baby bird’s feathers, soft like the beating of a butterfly’s wings.

 _God_ , he wished it was real.

Free from inhibitions and frissons of fear, Ed shifted across the bed, leaning into Oswald’s space.

It was second nature to press their lips together. 

It was different to most of his dreams, firmer, realistic, the tangibility seeping in further as he lifted a hand to cup Oswald’s cheek. It quivered beneath his touch, Oswald’s resulting exhale spreading across Ed’s face, Ed’s lip curling up at the sweet serenity of it.

Which was when Oswald pulled away.

“Ed?” Ed blinked, scanning Oswald’s face. “Ed, what-”

 _ **Thud,**_ like a rollercoaster rolling off the tracks.

 _ **Thud,**_ like all the books on a shelf dropping to the floor,

 _ **Thud,**_ like his heart had actually broken.

“What are you- Why-”

Reality spilled in like ice water and Ed launched himself out of the bed, backing himself into the farthest corner of the room. He curled his arms around himself in a makeshift shield of flesh and bone. His body trembled at the combined forces of the cool morning air and Oswald's aghast stare brushing against his naked skin.

Yes, he was nude, and so was Oswald apparently. 

It was then that the buzzing static in Ed's ears began to translate and morph into words. Namely; his own. Whole litanies spouted from his dry lips, repeated phrases of “Oh my,” and “Oh dear,” mixing in a witch’s concoction, dissolving into “Oh God”s.

Oswald just sat there, staring and waiting in shocked silence. Ed's own gaze diverted, unable to settle as it flitted about the large room, until it eventually landed on the pile of clothes. Their clothes. Haphazard and strewn like the aftermath of some awful, awful thing. Earthquakes and tsunamis, natural disasters.

That was how the memories came; messy and twisted, jumbled out of order and tangled together:

 _ **One:**_ Him and Oswald arriving, the undisguised looks and the quiet mutterings. Oswald hadn’t noticed them, or he was so used to ignoring them by now that he’d swept past without the need to glare.

 _ **Two:**_ Teaching Oswald about the people at the party, Oswald’s quiet interest and occasional questions. The look in his eyes as they regarded each other over a glass of champagne.

 _ **Three:**_ Going and fetching another drink, only to find a glass cabinet unlocked and a decanter with what appeared to be Oswald’s favourite scotch whiskey in its confines.

 _ **Four:**_ Returning to find Oswald locked in another verbal battle with a severe looking woman named _Kathryn_ , Oswald’s brightening features when he’d saved him from her clutches.

 _ **Five:**_ Outside the wine cellar, coughing and sputtering at the dry strength of the whiskey before insisting Oswald finished it and bending down to pick the lock.

 _ **Six:**_ Colourful bottles all around, Oswald’s eyes as he took a hold of the most expensive bottle there, how gleeful he was when he had told Ed he would smash it. How Ed had almost wanted to let him do it.

 _ **Seven:**_ Leaning against one of the only bare patches on the wall, trading drinks between them, words coming easily to Ed, easier each time Oswald rolled his eyes or snorted a laugh, because it meant that it was really happening.

 _ **Eight:**_ A moment, where Ed truly believed that Oswald would finally kiss him. The moment passed.

 _ **Nine:**_ Staggering up the stairs to find police officers everywhere, one Detective Bullock scrounging about like a mangy animal.

 _ **Ten:**_ Him and Oswald in the car, needing him _close, close, closer_ as his head and stomach swam. Oswald’s face when he’d kissed the tip of his nose; like a dying man who’d found his salvation.

 _ **Eleven:**_ The taste of Oswald’s lips, how soft they were, pliable. How Edward had sunken into them without remorse captured by an unknown flavour that overflowed his heart and mind until he was just another puddle on the floor.

 _ **Twelve:**_ Oswald above him, hands on each other’s skin, Ed’s throat working as noises erupted from it, all control lost when Oswald looked at him, stroked him, held him, pushed inside him. Ed had never been so happy to let go.

 _ **Thirteen:**_ “Ed, I… I love you.” A whispered secret, soaring like a bird until he gently floated back down to Earth. He’d curled around Oswald, arms clinging like tentacles.

“Say it again,” he’d begged.

“I love you.”

Thirteen always was an unlucky number.

Ed slid down the wall, burying his pounding head in his hands as he tried to breathe through nausea churning his stomach.

“Ed… Ed, I’m _sorry_ , I never-”

“It’s not your fault,” Ed told him, voice low and quiet in an attempt not to disturb his head more than it already was. “I kissed you, I started this.” Ed could still taste their morning kiss on his lips. 

In a moment of unbridled strength and concentration, Ed heaved himself up off the floor, staggering towards the door.

“Ed, don’t-”

“I’m sorry, Oswald, but I have to go find Isabella. I-I have to tell her what… what happened.” Ed reached the doorframe, leaning heavily on it as he turned the knob.

“Ed, just,” Ed turned back, staring at Oswald’s pleading eyes and the halo of light that seemed to surround him. “Please don’t hate me, Ed.”

“I could never, Oswald,” Ed told him, something deep and gut-wrenching making his voice wobble like a man on a tightrope.

He shut the door behind him.

♠ ♠ ♠

Gotham Library was startlingly smaller than Edward had predicted, a ‘homely’ atmosphere in the close-fitting shelves and warm wood interior. Still, it was clean, no dust littering the air and the floor frankly spotless.

“Hello, can I…” Ed turned to face none other than Isabella, her features twisting from shock to happily surprised as he waited. “Oh, Ed! What are you doing here?”

Guilt swallowed Ed’s heart, the sudden urge to gag consuming him. He took a deep breath, blinking rapidly. It was a simple question and it deserved a simple answer.

“I have to tell you something,” he confessed, “Is there somewhere we can…”

“Oh, yes!” Isabella agreed brightly. “Just follow me.”

She led him down one of the narrow corridors created by the bookshelves, weaving in and out until they stopped at a table in a secluded corner. 

“There are lots of these, but not many people bother coming to this one,” she explained. “Sometimes I like to come here on my own and read some of my favourites.” She turned to him with a sweet smile that once more churned his gut. “What’s your favourite book, Edward? You must have one.”

“Isabella, I-” Ed began hesitantly.

“Oh, of course, you love so many it’s difficult to choose. How silly of me to-”

“Isabella,” Ed interrupted sharply, biting his tongue when Isabella’s expression turned. “I-I’m sorry, but I do have something I need to discuss with you urgently.”

“Oh, sorry, I just get so side-tracked sometimes.” She sat down at the table, patting the table in front of her to indicate that Ed should sit across from her. He did, taking another deep breath before forcing himself to meet Isabella’s gaze.

She looked so heartbreakingly happy, her eyes bright and fierce (just like Kristen’s had been). Ed hated to take her blissful ignorance away, but…

“I did something bad.” Quick like a bandaid, sharp like an arrow. It would all be over soon.

“Really?” Kristen--Whoops, Isabella--raised a curious eyebrow, leaning forward with considerable intrigue. “What did you do?” 

Ed paused, his words sticking in throat. This was the moment, he _had_ to speak.

“You didn’t murder anyone, did you?” Isabella joked, her tone lilting with suppressed laughter. Ed winced, looking back at her. “Oh,” she breathed.

“I promise, it was a long time ago!” Ed cried, not wanting her to get the wrong idea.

(The one that Kristen had)

“Okay…” She allowed, eyeing him apprehensively. “Explain.”

“Well, it started when I killed your--I mean _Kristen’s_ , Ex-boyfriend. He hurt her, _abused_ her, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

“So you..?”

“Killed him, yes,” Ed confirmed.

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Isabella assured him.

“I’m not done,” he sighed, his gaze dropping to the table as he realized he couldn’t continue if he had to see her face. “When K-Kristen found out, she was mad. She called me awful things, said I was just as bad as he was. I’m not though, I promise.”

“Okay,” Isabella agreed softly. “So you killed her too?”

“It was an accident, I swear!” Ed promised, looking up again at Krist-- _Isabella’s_ eyes.

“I believe you,” Isabella assured him, laying her soft hand atop his own. Ed had a startling thought about how it wasn’t as nearly as strong and reassuring as Oswald’s before he quickly brushed it away. “So, that’s all?”

“Well…” Ed trailed off, grimacing.

“Oh, Ed!” Isabella exclaimed tiredly, rubbing her forehead like she was getting a headache.

“Just a man who stumbled onto the grave site,” Ed assured her. “That’s all, I swear.” He didn’t think Isabella would take kindly to Mr Leonard and the others, and none of them had been in the papers so her only way of finding out was from Oswald himself, and Ed doubted he’d tell her.

“Okay,” Isabella huffed an exhausted breath. “I think I may need some tea after that.”

“Me too,” Ed mumbled miserably.

“But at least that was all it was,” Isabella concluded, rising from the table with purpose.

“Actually-” Ed chewed his lip before gritting his teeth.

“Oh, Eddie,” she rubbed her forehead again before sitting back down. “Go on, then.”

“Well, you know how I couldn’t see you last night because Oswald and I had the Founders’ dinner to go to?” Ed prompted, waiting for Isabella’s nod before continuing. “Well, through an unfortunate series of events, Oswald and I both got drunk, which-”

“Really, Ed?” Isabella interrupted with a frown. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Well, Oswald kept insisting I drank as much as he did,” Ed began.

“I don’t much like the sound of that,” Isabella reprimanded. “Perhaps the Mayor is a bad influence on you.”

Ed frowned at her. “I think you’ve misunderstood. I kept bringing Oswald champagne and he said he’d only drink if he had company. He didn’t want to be seen as a drunk and it would be more appropriate if we drank together.”

Isabella hummed doubtfully. “Still, getting you drunk off of champagne alone… he must really have been pouring it down your hatch.”

“Actually,” Ed cleared his throat, “I went and got us something stronger. I found some whiskey I thought Oswald might enjoy, so I brought it to him. I didn’t much like it myself, he drank most of it.”

Isabella tsked, pulling a disapproving face before waving her hand to indicate that Ed should continue.

“Well, we ended up having an unpleasant encounter with a woman whose name escapes me.” Ed frowned, trying to remember but failing. “Anyway, I suggested that we get drunk and try to forget it ever happened, and I lead him to the wine cellar which I-”

“Are you sure it wasn’t Mr Cobblepot who suggested that?” Isabella asked primly.

“It’s Mayor Cobblepot, actually,” Ed corrected with a frown, “And no, I was the one that thought it’d be fun to blow off the first half of the dinner.”

“Alright,” Isabella shrugged. “I get the idea. So what happened next?”

“Well…” Ed licked his lips, clearing his throat again. “Eventually, the GCPD shut things down because a man had attempted to poison some of the guests, so we took the car home.” Ed swallowed thickly.

_Oswald’s breath against his lips as he leaned in, the giggle on his breath as his lips touched that adorable nose, a warm thigh under his squeezing hand, Oswald’s blush ruddy and bright, his hand subtly pulling Ed’s away, only for him to replace it were it belonged._

“And then?” Isabella prompted, an edge of impatience to her voice.

“And then we decided to have a nightcap, and he was explaining that the whiskey he was pouring was the same as the one his father used to give him,” Ed sighed. He had to tell her the truth, he’d already come this far. “And then… And then we kissed.”

“He kissed you!” Isabella spat, a disgusted expression on her face. “How dare he? That is sexual harassment at least! You need to take him to court, Edward, demand justice!”

“No, no,” Ed shook his head vehemently. “I kissed _him_. I… I wanted to do it.”

_Oswald’s lips, frozen and still, but wet with hot whiskey and begging to be tasted._

Isabella looked like she wanted to protest, but ultimately stayed silent.

Eventually, she said; “I understand, Eddie. You were drunk. People kiss all the time when they’re drunk. I still want to be with you, as long you promise not to do it again.” She smiled kindly (blindly). “And, hey, if you want someone to kiss when you’re drunk, you can just call me.”

Oh, God.

“Actually,” _Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God._ “There’s more.” Silence again, so Ed pressed on. “After we kissed, I-”

_Swinging a leg over Oswald’s, making him stay, needing him to stay. He’s already aroused, can feel it stirring in his stomach, the need to press against Oswald pulsing through him._

“I-I told him that I-”

_“I need you, Oswald.” A whine finally giving a voice to all the feeling he’d been trying to tamp down._

“That I wanted him to-to _be_ with me, and I-

_Taking his hand, looking into those gorgeous eyes, pulling him up the stairs, giggles in their hair, in their clothes, echoed in their skulls._

“W-we went to his bedroom and w-we-”

_“F-fuck, Oswald.” Hands and lips tearing him apart, a head between his thighs, softness between his fingers, an everlasting groan on his lips. Need, pure need, everything he’d ever wanted was in his grasp and he drank it like he’d never tasted water before._

“It wasn’t supposed to-”

_“Ed, I…” Absolute bliss, a soaring bird in his soul, the clouds belonged to him, the moon, the sea. “I love you.”_

The world around him had grown blurry, and it wasn’t until Ed blinked that he realized it was tears crowding his vision, one lone trail slipping down his cheek as he sniffled.

“I’m sorry.” It sounded like a lie.

“Oh, Ed.” Isabella’s arms were suddenly wrapped around him, she must have stood up from behind the table to reach him. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to.”

_Waking up so happy, he thought he’d been dreaming, leaning across the bed to capture Oswald’s lips the way he’d always longed to do._

“I know you’d never have done it if you weren’t so intoxicated.”

_Silent nights, muffled moans, his hand wrapped around his cock, so good, so good, Oswald’s face filling his minds, pale eyes and pretty lips, disastrously alluding. Only **his** name on his lips when it’s ending, his own disappeared in a puff of smoke, forgotten with the rest of the world._

“Do you believe in fate, Isabella?” He asked, a broken shadow to the eagerness he’d given into when he’d first uttered the words.

“Of course!” she declared passionately. “After all, I believe it was fate which led me to you.”

Ed sniffled, moving away to look her in the eye. “Really? You believe that?”

“Of course! How else could you explain such a perfect encounter in this day and age?” Isabella pointed out. “Clearly, destiny decided to intervene.”

He recalled the conversation he and Oswald had had before the Founders’ dinner and everything going to hell.

_“So, she bears a passing resemblance to Kristen. It’s just the universe telling me...Telling me I have a second chance at love.”_

Surely, he had been right? He’d felt so confident in the words when he’d said them, maybe if he stayed with Kristen long enough, he could find that again.

Wait-- _Isabella._ Why did that keep happening?

“Eddie?” Isabella prompted, bringing him back to the present.

“Thank you for being so understanding,” he smiled at her, his lips pulled tightly. “Perhaps I could see you again soon?”

“Of course!” Isabella chirped. “How about we meet tomorrow? At about-” She was cut off by a cell phone ringing loudly through the near-silent library. Flushing in embarrassment, she quickly tugged it from her waistband, casting an apologetic glance Ed’s way before answering.

“Hello! Ah, yes, Kathryn, I just need to… I know, but, um, Ed is here and I… good. I promise.” Isabella quickly hung up, turning back to Ed. He blinked at her slowly, wanting to ask her about the person on the other end, but he was already in the dog’s box as it was and he didn’t want his curiosity to be misconstrued as accusation.

“Sorry, what was I saying?” Isabella asked, her laugh tinkling like summer wind-chimes (different to Oswald hearty guffaws, the way he’d leant on Ed when the force of them had wracked his body).

“I…”

“Oh, of course, I was proposing we have dinner tomorrow. Say seven-thirty at my place?” Isabella prompted, smiling expectantly.

“O-okay,” Ed agreed hesitantly. It sounded too much like she was expecting something, something Ed wasn’t sure he was ready to give. “I-I better go now, but I’ll text you.”

“Where are you going?” Isabella inquired, pursing her pink lips.

“Work. I do believe I am impeccably late,” Ed forced a laugh, hating how it shivered down his spine.

“You’re still going?” Isabella remarked, her mouth forming a perfect O of surprise. “Even after last night?”

“I still have a job to do. Oswald’s still my boss and my friend. I can’t abandon him after one drunken mistake.”

“Okay…” Isabella agreed, apprehension clear in her tone. “But if anything happens that you’re not okay with, I want you to leave and come straight to me, okay?”

“Okay,” Ed nodded. He hoped to God it wouldn’t come to that.

It was only by coincidence that when Edward turned, he caught Isabella's scowl in the reflection of a glass cabinet.

He resolutely told himself to stop seeing things while steadfastly ignoring the feeling that told him; this time, the glare was real.

♠ ♠ ♠

He managed to avoid Oswald for most of the day. If that meant ducking around hallways and occasionally sending that halfwit Tarquin to deliver messages to Oswald when the need arose, then so be it.

Still there was no avoiding him when the clock struck five and the office began packing up and readying to go home after another long day at work. Ed wished he could just crawl under his desk and stay, but he was bone dead tired like the rest of them and Oswald was his only way home.

They met at the top of the grand staircase like something out of a nineteen-sixties rom-com.

“Hi,” Ed wasn’t sure what else there was to say.

“Hello, Edward,” Oswald greeted back, inclining his head. Silence prevailed between them, Ed’s shuffling feet and Oswald’s tapping cane creating their own awkward backtrack to the uncomfortable situation.

“I may only be given, not taken or bought. What the sinner desires, but the saint does not. What am I?” The riddle spilled forth into the air like a tidal wave on a remote beach, stirring up untouched grains of sand and possibly destroying whatever fragile connections were still held.

“Ed, you don’t need to be forgiven.” Ed paused looking up at Oswald’s forlorn yet sincere features.

“Why not?” He asked, vocal cords twisting like jump-ropes to come out more strained than ever.

“Because it wasn’t your fault,” Oswald told him. Ed opened his mouth indignantly, but Oswald ploughed on, ignoring him. “I should have tried to stop it, but I didn’t.”

“You did try,” Ed insisted. “You were a perfect gentleman, while I kept forcing myself on you like some sort of-”

“Don’t,” Oswald interrupted sharply. “I won’t hear any degrading names spoken about you, least of all from your own mouth. You have nothing to be ashamed of, I’m the one who couldn’t resist the chance when it presented itself. As I said before; I should have tried harder.”

Ed scoffed. “Can we at least agree we both screwed up? It takes two to tango after all.”

“Fine,” Oswald snapped, clearly as frustrated as Ed. “But I’m your boss and your friend, I should have been taking _care_ of you, not taking advantage of you.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Ed hissed. “As if I’ve never wanted to do that before.” 

Silence, louder than crashing pots and smashing glass. Ed always was terrible when it came to leaving a calling card at the scene of his crimes, and it seemed he’d left his heart at this one.

“Hey, Mr Cobblepot, sorry to be a buzzkill, but I’ve been waiting for like five minutes, so…” They both looked up as Miss Casely approached them, her hips swinging with a combination of confidence and casualness that Ed wished he could muster in himself.

“Sorry, Miss Casely, we’ll come at once,” Ed replied, already walking forward as he snatched at the first getaway that had presented itself.

A brooding cloud of silence still above his head, Oswald followed behind them, Ed wishing all the while that he’d drop the topic by the time they arrived home.

As soon as they got in the car, Oswald pressed the button to raise the divider, and Ed felt his heart sink down to his shoes.

“Edward, we need to talk about this,” Oswald concluded, morose and stern in equal measure.

“I hardly think this is the time,” Ed complained, adding extra bluster to his voice as he avoided Oswald gaze.

“No, perhaps not,” Oswald muttered agreeably. “But, perhaps, we can have dinner tomorrow?”

“I already have plans,” Ed interjected quickly. “With Isabella.”

“Oh,” A frown, a look, an ache in Ed’s chest. “Perhaps tonight then?”

“I’m seeing her tonight too.” Guilt as Oswald’s face crumpled slightly before smoothing out like clear ice. “I promise though, we’ll talk on Wednesday. Thursday at the latest.”

“Okay,” Oswald agreed. “But I won’t have you putting me off. I’m putting my foot down on this one.”

“O-okay,” Ed agreed, his mind already elsewhere. Elsewhere being him deciding how, exactly, he was going to form an excuse to see Isabella on such short notice.

Ed just wished his life was simple.

♠ ♠ ♠

“Ed!” Isabella answered, her voice ringing strangely through the phone. “How was your day? Tell me all about it.”

“I was thinking, perhaps I could tell you in person,” Ed ventured, wincing a little at the formation of his words but continuing anyway. “I-I wanted to see you.”

“Missing me already?” Isabella teased. “Well, I miss you too, Eddie, and I’d love to see you. What did you have in mind?”

“Perhaps I could pick you up in an hour or so and we could go to the cinema?” Ed proposed. “I heard that they're doing a run of all the Audrey Hepburn movies.”

“That sound great!” Isabella cried. “I’ll have to get ready!”

“Okay,” Ed agreed, trying his best to match her enthusiasm. “See you soon.”

“Bye!”

He stared at the phone for a long moment before he realized that it was more than apprehension stirring in his chest. 

He had a bad feeling. 

♠ ♠ ♠

“Edward!” Isabella greeted, throwing open the door. Ed watched as she toed on her heels, smiling pleasantly all the while.

“Ready to go?” he asked, offering his arm.

“Such a gentleman,” she gushed, taking his offer after locking her apartment behind her. He led her back down the stairs and out into the night air, opening the passenger door for her as she continued to chat happily about her day and whatever seemed to spring to her mind.

As Ed climbed in the car himself, he began joining in, adding in a few anecdotes from his own day to make her laugh. God, Kristen had a beautiful laugh. Wait, no, _Isabella_. Christ.

The drive to the cinema wasn’t long and he thankfully found a carpark reasonably close to it, saving them from the night air’s chill as they walked down the street.

“So, tell me,” Isabella began, pulling her cardigan closer around her shoulders. “Did you see the Mayor today?”

“Yes,” Ed sighed, his fingers pushing beneath his glasses as he rubbed his eyes.

“Was it awful?” Isabella asked, voice double-dipped in sympathy.

“No, it wasn’t. It was fine.” Ed rolled his eyes. “He even tried to apologize, despite doing nothing wrong.”

“Perhaps he thought if he apologized first, then you’d apologize too. People do that all the time,” Isabella pointed out.

“I’d already apologized this morning,” Ed dismissed. “Can we talk about something else? I’d much rather enjoy my date with you than focus on… that.”

“Of course,” Isabella agreed, reaching on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek before they continued the last few metres inside the red and gold painted cinema. Ed looked around at the high ceilings and carefully crafted ornate marble pillars, but didn’t have much time other than that to admire the interior before Isabella was pulling him along to the ticket stand.

After paying for the tickets and a large bucket of popcorn, they took their seats in the theatre, waiting for the next movie to start.

“This is lovely! I haven’t been to the cinema in so long,” Isabella exclaimed, settling happily with her hands folded in her lap. 

Edward looked around, noticing the other people who had been there when they came as well as the newcomers occasionally spilling forth from the multiple entrances and exits. They were being packed in like veritable sardines.

“I didn’t realize it was going to be so warm,” Isabella commented, removing her cardigan with a laugh. Ed smiled tightly, trying to focus despite the apparent lack of air in the cinema. He huffed as another man took the seat beside him and immediately began making out with his friend on the right.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Isabella whispered as the countdown started to play on the screen. “My glasses! I might need them.” Ed nodded, looking over to see…

“Where did those glasses come from,” A rush, words erupting from him unbidden, a dormant volcano spewing forth lava.

“These? Oh, they’re my back up pair. I usually wear contacts, but, well,” Kristen laughed, shrugging a little. “I thought you knew that.”

Ghosts in his head, he was playing poker with the dead, again, a trombone in his heart, yet another false start, a cold hand, a colder touch, all of this was too much, too much, _too much._

“I-I have to…” Legs moving, knocking, a million people were blocking his path to freedom, but at last, he stumbled out of the barricades into the poppy fields of a near-empty foyer, heading to the bathroom where maybe he could breathe again.

 _“Oh, Eddie,”_ she was laughing here too, he could feel it, the noise bouncing off the walls like ricocheting bullets, mocking giggles reverberating in his bones.

“Enough!” He shouted at her, spinning so his gaze collided with her, hanging off him in the mirror like he was a coat rack. “It’s just a pair of glasses.”

“Of course,” Kristen agreed, her mouth twisted in a Cheshire cat smile. “But that’s not the only problem, is it, Eddie?”

“I don’t know what you…” his words derailed yet again, a train forever crashing from its tracks.

“Come now, Edward. No use pretending, this is _me_ you’re talking to,” Kristen cackled, brushing a stray lock of her hair back into place with cool detachment. “Shall we take a tour?”

Ed pressed his lips together, refusing to say a word.

“Well, then, how about we start with the fact she looks _exactly_ like me. Now _that_ is grounds enough to send you straight to Arkham.”

“Isabella is… she’s _blonde_ ,” Ed told her emphatically.

“Wow, Ed,” Isabella raised her eyebrows, the sarcasm dripping from her tongue like a melting ice lolly in the summer. “Wow.”

“You two are… are-” Ed hissed through his teeth, his fingers coming up to press against his eyes beneath his glasses. “You’re somewhat different.”

“Well, she _is_ alive,” Kristen conceded with a tilt of her head. “But don’t worry; we’ll soon fix that.”

“What do you mean?” Ed gasped.

“It’s only inevitable, Eddie,” she simpered, fluttering her eyelashes. “You sleep with us, then you kill us. Classic serial killer stuff.”

“I don’t- that’s not-” he stammered.

“Oh, of course,” she smiled, a shark in her teeth, “Oswald is still alive.”

Ed blanched, his head dizzying as Kristen laughed again.

“What a waste it will be when he’s gone too-”

“Eddie!” Ed’s heart stuttered at the loud rapping of knuckles on the door, his breath escaping him like hot steam.

“C-coming,” he quickly slipped out of the door, struggling to meet Kristen's-- _Isabella’s_ gaze.

“I’m sorry, Edward,” She soothed, stroking his arm comfortingly. He pushed a smile onto his face, wishing he could make it meet his eyes. “Can I still see you tomorrow? I was really looking forward to having dinner with you.”

“Of course,” Ed agreed.

He wished it didn’t feel like a death sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was just sunshine and rainbows. But things will get better, I promise. Also, Isabella is one crafty bitch in this, and kind of blatantly manipulative. I might still be mad at her. Oh well, I hope you liked this anyway and are ready for more (I already have the next chapter planned out). As usual, any and all comment/kudos are loved to death (but if you're too nice, I may be sent to an early grave). See y'all soon hopefully :)


	3. Oswald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald decides to accept his situation. Ed doesn't want him to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. Honestly, this started in my head as; ‘okay, so I’ll show Ed and Oswald having some awkwardness, then Oswald can get sad drunk, then maybe some fluffy making up and some more drunk smut’. Somehow, things changed. I blame all the sad songs I listened to the day I wrote this.
> 
> (The truth is, I will always see Ed’s relationship with Isabella as abusive because that’s the only way my brain can seem to interpret it. I’m happy to be disagreed with, but the scene where Isabella dresses like Kristen makes me want to vomit and cry and ever since the first time, I can’t even watch when she wraps his hand around her neck)
> 
> I also apologize for the accidental Sherlock reference. But not for the Panic! At The Disco ones, because those are entirely intentional.
> 
> Please enjoy this and know I cried when writing it.

“And so, you just… _left?_ ” Oswald asked, struggling to comprehend it. Ed nodded, pinching his brow. “Well, that’s…”

“Yes,” Ed hissed. “But it’s alright, I-I’ll see her again tomorrow, and-and we’ll work through it.”

Oswald hummed, wrinkling his nose distastefully.

“What?” Ed asked.

“Merely seems like a lot of work for a relationship that’s barely a week old, is all,” Oswald told him, taking a sip from his glass of red.

“New rule,” Ed spat, pointing a shaky finger in Oswald’s face. “You don’t get to advise me on my relationship with Krist- I mean, Isabella.”

“You asked,” Oswald reminded, unable to hold back his smirk at the blatant name jumble. “Get some rest, Edward. You need it.”

“Yes, you’re probably right,” Ed mumbled in agreement.

“Of course I am,” Oswald scoffed. “Goodnight, Ed.”

“Yes, goodnight.” Ed wandered off in his half-dazed state, Oswald watching him all the while.

He sighed as Ed disappeared from sight, refilling his glass as he felt tiredness hunch his shoulders and creak his bones. Perhaps he was too old to go chasing after love, he could barely keep up. Ed didn’t want him, Oswald could see that now. Even after everything, Ed still wanted to be with someone else, and there was no way Oswald could change that.

_“Perhaps you should get rid of her.”_

That dreadful woman sprang to mind, her malicious smile and manicured nails taunting him. She didn’t know what she was talking about. Even with Isabella gone, he doubted Ed would magically fall in love with him. That wasn’t how loved worked.

But, God, he wished it could be that simple.

♠ ♠ ♠

“Hello, Ed,” Oswald greeted without flair, sighing as he plopped himself down on one of the office’s ornate chairs.

“Oswald?” Ed questioned, putting down his pen as he rested his arms on the desk. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sick of you sending that brown-nosed suck-up Tarquin to do your bidding. He has no spine and keeps trying to flirt with me,” Oswald complained. Tarquin truly was horrid, even stooping to offering to shine Oswald’s shoes at one point, crass innuendo falling from his lips all the while.

“F-flirting?” Ed echoed.

“Yes. It’s degrading and unimaginative drivel. I don’t know why you haven’t fired him already,” Oswald told him, scowling as his mind conjured Tarquin’s leering smile.

“I was saving him for a rainy day,” Ed explained with a shrug.

“By rainy day, I hope you mean a well-earned torture session,” Oswald grumbled. Although, picturing it did make him smile. “He’d be so confused, wondering what he did wrong.”

“Yes,” Ed snorted, Oswald looking up to watch the sparkle of darkness in his eyes. “It has been a while since we’ve indulged.”

“Far too long,” Oswald agreed, picking a stray thread off his pinstripe trousers, only to look up and meet Ed’s heated gaze. Something heady and arousing sparked between them, the point of Ed’s tongue snaking out to wet his lips distracting and confusing Oswald at the same time.

“Well, so long as we’re clear,” Oswald began, quickly standing up as he tried to avoid Ed’s gaze, “I’d best be off. I suppose I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes,” Ed agreed, raspy and hoarse in a way that made Oswald want to stay, to climb into Ed’s lap and kiss him senseless, to take him into his arms and show him how black the stars are.

Oswald fled as quickly as his legs could carry him.

♠ ♠ ♠

“Heya, boss.”

Oswald spun in his chair, meeting Selina’s gaze. “Is that what I am to you?” he asked. “Last time I saw you, you were skulking around _my_ celebration party. Not very polite is it?”

“Depends how you look at it,” Selina countered with a grin, sliding down from the window sill to land at his side.

“How did you even climb up there?” Oswald asked, exasperated yet again by Selina’s incessant breaking-and-entering.

“Just be glad I’m not the killing type, or you’d be toast,” Selina told him, slapping his arm good-naturedly.

“Not in the mood, Cat,” he snapped because he'd had quite enough bloodcurdling for one day.

“Cat?” She scrunched up her nose and twisted her mouth. “You okay there, Pengy?”

“I'm freaking fantastic,” Oswald replied, not even trying to fake some measure of enthusiasm. “Obviously, this is the best day of my life.”

“Huh,” Selina hopped up onto his desk, swinging her leather-clad legs like a schoolgirl. “You need someone dead, huh?”

“I wish it were that simple,” Oswald sighed, resting his chin on the heel of his hand.

“Riddle-boy gettin’ ya down?” She asked. It truly was infuriating how informed the girl could be.

“That's not his name and you know it.”

“Yeah, but comin’ up with better names is more fun and creative,” she told him. Oswald pursed his lips, not deigning to reply. “So you guys are breakin’ up already, huh?”

“What? No!” Oswald blustered, heat crawling up his neck.

“Then what's wrong?”

“Ed and I aren't together,” Oswald answered. “ _He_ is with someone else.”

“Yeah, but, it doesn't mean he doesn’t _want_ to be with you,” Selina tried.

Oswald snorted. “Isabelle is blonde, _female_ , and looks exactly like his dead girlfriend,” Oswald told her. “So she's pretty much exactly what he's looking for.”

“Right.” Selina nodded, seemingly to herself. “ _Sooo…_ should I steal us some expensive champagne?”

Oswald groaned. “I've had enough champagne for a lifetime. Besides, I'd rather drink alone. “

“Fine,” Selina huffed, “I'll steal some whiskey and we'll halve it.”

“That works,” Oswald agreed. “But don't make it Scotch. Ed's ruined that for me too.”

“No scotch, check.” Selina held out her hand expectantly. Oswald rolled his eyes, slapping a one hundred dollar bill onto her palm.

“Will that suffice?” He tsked.

“Yep,” Selina confirmed, greedily crumpling the note in her fist before shoving it in her pocket. “I'll just leave it on the table at the Manor.”

“As long as you don't break anything getting in.” Selina shot him a look before climbing back out the window.

“Oh, one more thing,” Selina said, either standing on a ledge or floating in midair. “No one's my boss except me. But if I did have a boss, it'd be you.”

Who ever said there was no loyalty amongst thieves?

♠ ♠ ♠

For all her shortcomings, Selina sure did know how to deliver on a promise.

One half-empty bottle in hand, Oswald was already feeling a buzz, staring at the ceiling between choked-down swallows. He was laying back on the loveseat, laughing at such a ridiculous name for a tiny couch that had done nothing for him except bring him grief.

The last thing he could remember of the couch had been Ed crawling onto his lap like he’d _needed_ him before everything went fuzzy and distorted and the memories slipped away. Oswald sighed, bringing his other hand up to read Selina’s message once more.

 _“Fuck a silver lining.”_ it read. Oswald believed it was a pop culture reference but wasn’t nearly sober enough to place it. Why bother, anyway?

Footsteps sounded down the corridor, stumbling and uncoordinated. Oswald quickly sat up, cursing when some of the whiskey spilled out of the bottle and down his front.

“O-Oswald?” oh, it was just Ed. Oswald smiled as he came into the room.

“Look at that,” Oswald remarked. “You always make me smile, friend.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Ed replied. Oswald briefly wondered whose side of the conversation got lost in translation before deciding it didn’t matter as long as Ed was with him and not wrapped in someone else’s arms.

“Why are you back so early, Ed?” Oswald asked, smiling up at him. “I-I figured you’d-you’d be sleeping with-with someone else by now.” He giggled and it hurt.

“Is that whiskey?” Ed asked instead of answering the question like a normal human being.

“Yes,” Oswald nodded delightedly, sinking back against the cushions, as his head span. “Selina got me the-the _good_ stuff.”

“How much have you had?” Ed asked, tilting his head like an endearing little… little…

“What’s small and cute, Ed?” Oswald asked, licking his lips to chase away the whiskey there.

“Is this--are you asking me a riddle?” Ed asked.

“Do you like riddles?” Oswald retorted.

“Oswald, how much have you had?” Ed asked again, firmer now.

“Only two. No, wait, four. Or was it six? Or maybe it wasn’t even an even number, ‘cause ‘things are shaping up to be pretty odd’,” Oswald sang. “Wait, I get the reference now!”

Oswald’s delighted laughter was cut off when Ed snatched the bottle from his hand.

“Hey!” he cried indignantly, lunging for the bottle and suddenly finding himself on the floor.

“Believe me, I need it more than you do,” Ed explained, voice ragged like a patched-up quilt. He came and sat next to Oswald, taking a swig from the bottle.

“It’s okay,” Oswald assured him, resting his head on Ed’s shoulder with a contented sigh. “I can sacrifice my liquor for you.”

“You’re different when you drink whiskey,” Ed commented. Oswald watched as he took another swallow, face screwing up either at the taste or the burn.

“Is that your way of telling me I should drink it more often?” Oswald asked.

“Just an observation.” Another swallow, moving down Ed’s throat at a rapid pace that Oswald wanted to follow with his tongue. 

Perhaps Ed was right, and Oswald had had a bit too much after all.

Oswald needed to focus, needed to concentrate on what was important, namely the fact that Ed was _here_ instead of where he should’ve been; with Isabelle.

“Did-did you and Isabelle break up?” he asked, accidental glee colouring his attempt at concern.

“It’s Isabella,” Ed corrected, voice too empty to sound like a reprimand. “But I suppose you can call her whatever you want.”

“Why?” Oswald asked. Ed’s shoulders shuddered, making Oswald shudder along with them.

“Do you like poetry, Oswald?” he asked instead, tipping his head back as he finished off the bottle.

“I-” Oswald began.

“I like poetry,” Ed interjected.

“That’s… nice?” Oswald ventured.

“See, you don’t pretend to like things just ‘cause I do,” Ed said, the sudden U-turn making Oswald dizzy. “You… You are authentic. There’s no one else like Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot.”

“That is true,” Oswald agreed, leaning around the loveseat to snag another bottle, opening it with his teeth.

“I don’t deserve one of a kind,” Ed stated, abrupt and unpredictable as an Earthquake.

“You-you’re wrong,” Oswald told him.

“Do you want to hear some poetry?” Ed asked. Oswald didn’t know how he was managing to link all his sentences together like that.

“Only if _you’re_ the one saying it.” Oops, that had just slipped out.

Ed slid himself forward, turning and planting himself between Oswald’s legs with his own feet situated on either side. Oswald didn’t bother avoiding Ed’s gaze, simply swallowing down the first mouthful of whiskey to Christen it before handing Ed the bottle. Ed took a swig like he was psyching himself up for something before setting it down out of Oswald’s reach.

“You’re in love with a knife fight and his lips taste like gunpowder. His heart is a battlefield demanding attention, his mind a dismantled tragedy, but his love is like the whole world electric and the sun laid at your feet. He says: I’ll hurt you, and kisses you like someone who hates looking in mirrors. Feral boy loves you with his claws tucked in. Feral boy loves you without teeth, dreaming himself a labyrinth and handing you the sword. You knew how blood tasted on your tongue, but never from a fresh heart. He put it there, palms open, eyes slivered. This is the most precious thing you have ever been given. This is the most precious you have ever been made to feel. Kiss him so hard your jaw aches. Say: I am not afraid of the marks your hands will leave. Touch me. The bruises from your mouth are the only ones I’ve ever welcomed.”

“Ed,” Oswald gasped, just before lips touched his own.

“She hurt me, Oswald,” Ed mumbled, and it was such a wicked, wicked sentence, Oswald’s gut was sent churning and his heart was aching for the man who deserved the stars. “Make it better.”

“I promise.” Oswald Cobblepot didn’t make promises, but this man was the exception to all his unspoken rules.

They stumbled upstairs and Oswald leant on Ed through it all. They made each other their rock somehow and Oswald struggled to properly confound it.

No one said anything when he grabbed two bottles of whiskey along the way. (Two bottles in one hand was Oswald’s kind of poetry)

Oswald dropped and the bottles on the bed and they clinked like windchimes. He turned and unbuttoned Ed’s shirt, giggling madly. He didn’t know why. None of this was funny. He wasn’t trying to memorise the lines of Ed’s face this time, didn’t want to remember the tear tracks down his cheeks. This was a broken-hearted kind of love.

“Make love to me,” Ed begged, hanging his arms over Oswald’s neck like a noose. “It only feels real when it’s with you.”

Oswald kissed him for that, gentle and soft, Ed was his precious stone. He guided him backwards until he hit the bed (softly, softly) then pushed him down onto it (slowly gently, this was poetry). The whiskey bottles clinked again.

“Do you need some more?” Oswald asked breathlessly, meaning the whiskey. Ed shook his head no. It was then that Oswald realized that Ed was a braver man than he could ever be.

Oswald pulled Ed’s shirt from his shoulders and tried not to gag. 

“There are bruises on your shoulders,” he stated in a grave-dirt voice.

“Make them disappear,” Ed whispered, another tear trickling down into his ear. He was still wearing his glasses. Oswald wondered what it was he wanted to see.

“I-I can’t,” Oswald told him, finding he couldn’t smile. “I wish I could.”

“Then make them yours.” Ed’s hands captured his own, guiding his fingers to cover the much smaller prints. “When I wake up, I only want to remember you.”

Oswald shuddered. This was exactly what he’d wanted, but not in any way _how_ he’d wanted it. Still, he pressed his fingers down (softly, softly) gradually increasing the pressure (slowly, gently, this was poetry). Ed gasped and tipped his head back like a man experiencing ascension. Oswald wondered what that made him (he wasn’t a hero or a God and he wouldn’t pretend to be).

“Harder,” Ed requested, and it wasn’t supposed to be said like that, but Oswald steeled himself anyway and gripped Ed’s shoulders like a man holding onto life (he was, he was).

“I-I can’t,” Oswald choked out, vocal cords snapping like over-stretched rope, and Oswald shouldn’t have been crying because tears were meant for guilty men with guns pointed at them, but he was (he was, he was, he was).

“It’s okay,” Ed assured him, hands moving down Oswald’s still-clothed back, sending tidal waves of shivers with them.

“Where else?” Oswald asked.

“My cheek.” Oswald turned Ed’s face (softly, softly,) tracing the faint discolouration with a finger (slowly, gently, this was poetry). A tear dripped and landed there, making the skin startle. Oswald chased it with his lips, praying it would be enough. Ed sighed, sweet like wine instead of dark, stinging whiskey. Oswald pressed kiss after kiss to his skin, covering the mark and more, erasing as much as he could.

“Where else?” It was getting harder not to sob. Oswald could feel it burning in his throat.

“My wrists,” Ed cracked like a burning fire, presenting his hands like a man about to be cuffed. One of Ed’s wrists was ringed in dark blue and red, purple watercolour mixing on the page. The other wrist was clean.

Oswald didn’t say a word about it.

Oswald gathered both wrists in his hands, trading kisses between them (softly, softly) creating a perfect symmetry as each kiss was mirrored by another (slowly, gently, this was poetry).

“Where else?” _Don’t let this break you._

“My lips,” shaky and ashamed, truthful and weak. Oswald wanted to paint him with the sun. Instead, he pressed their lips together, kissing him soundly (softly, softly). “More.” He parted them with his tongue, slowly sinking in (slowly, gently, this was poetry). “More.” Worrying Ed’s bottom lip with his teeth, sucking Ed’s tongue into his mouth, Oswald hoped it would be enough. It was.

“Where else?”

“That’s it.” Ed smiled, actually, truly smiled. Oswald drank it in and it tasted better than whiskey or champagne ever could.

(They were still poetry)

Oswald kissed him again, and this time it tasted how it was supposed to, Ed kissing him back and pushing off the bed to meet him halfway.

“Whatever you need, Edward,” Oswald whispered, running his hand through Ed’s tousled hairs, feeling it part like water. “I’m here.”

“Say my name again,” Ed pleaded. “You say it how it’s supposed to be said.”

“Edward, Edward, Edward,” repeated between kisses and stroking hands (what a gentle fucking poetry). 

“I won’t forgive her.” Oswald told him.

“I don’t want you to,” Ed replied. “Again.”

“Edward, Edward, Edward,” he resumed, pitch altering as Ed began divesting him of his clothes (Shirt to shoes to shivering shoulders).

(Poetry, poetry, poetry)

(Edward, Edward, Edward)

“Hold me,” Ed finally requested when they were naked and bare and there was nowhere left to hide. Oswald complied without a thought, pressing skin against skin, lips against lips. Hands roamed where they could, learning each other’s shape like blind men. _Yes_ , a dip in Edward’s waist. _Yes_ , strength held captive in Ed’s bicep. _Yes_ , soft hair between his thighs.

“Touch me,” Ed eventually asked, and Oswald linked their fingers together so it’d be both of them, guiding them down, down, down (don’t fall off the page) to wrap around all of them.

(It felt whole)

(Oswald didn’t know he could feel like that)

Their breaths grew more and more ragged, their hips moved rapidly. Free hands gripped as they tripped and fell together. But, even with the stickiness drying between his thighs and wet breaths in his hair, Oswald continued to hold Ed.

“Don’t let go,” Ed had requested.

“I wouldn’t for a moment,” Oswald had replied.

(What beautiful, beautiful poetry could be made from a beautiful man and a beast with skin. Oswald could show him how, and they’d howl at the moon together)

“Tell me a riddle,” Oswald asked because things don’t always have to change.

“I can’t be bought, but can be stolen with a glance. I’m worthless to one, but priceless to two. What am I?”

“I love you too.”

♠ ♠ ♠

Oswald woke up the next morning with his head pressed against a pillow that wasn’t his own.

And, he remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was pretty much just a drunker, sadder version of [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14183997). I hope this story only needs one more chapter to get a truly happy and satisfying ending, but it might end up being longer in order to feel like I haven’t punched you in the heart. As usual, any and all Kudos/Comments are greatly appreciated :)
> 
> The poem is When a Sad Boy Loves an Angry Boy by Natalie Wee


	4. Edward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald wants to know if Ed will run away again. Edward plans to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this was supposed to be the last chapter, but it became way too long. It seems that I'm really dragging this out. Oh well, it was heaps fun writing it anyway. Please enjoy!
> 
> Also: Unexpected plot. You've been warned.

Ed awoke to a familiar face and a familiar arm wrapped around his waist. He blinked a couple times, validating for sure this time that the image was real.

“Oswald?” he whispered, gently brushing the man’s fringe back from his face. Oswald’s eyelashes fluttered and Ed smiled happily as their eyes met. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Oswald blinked blearily up at him, yawning and stretching his jaw rather adorably. His lips were still rosy from the previous evening’s activities and Ed gave in to his instincts, leaning into Oswald’s space. But, before he could press their lips together, Oswald’s hand quickly halted him, his breath stuttering out over Ed’s face and signalling his trepidation.

“Are you going to run away again?” he asked, quiet and trembling like that of a mouse. Ed had never thought he’d see an Oswald as small as this one.

“No,” Ed whispered. “I could never do that again, not to you, Oswald. I… I still love you. Nothing’s changed.” He slid his hand over to cover Oswald’s, rubbing his knuckles gently.

“So, you don’t regret it, then?” Oswald asked, fingers trembling slightly.

“Not one moment, no,” Ed shook his head vehemently, cheek pressing against the pillow with the movement. He squeezed Oswald’s hand. “I want to be with you, Oswald.” He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to continue meeting Oswald’s gaze. “Would you… Do you want to be with me?”

“Yes,” Oswald answered, a soft yet reverent smile gentling his face. “Yes, I-- _Yes_. I do.”

“Good.” Ed grinned too, marvelling for a moment at the beautiful sparks dancing in Oswald’s eyes before moving forward and finally giving Oswald a morning kiss.

It tasted awful.

“Oswald, did you _actually_ have six bottles of whiskey last night, or do you just taste like it?” Ed coughed, pulling back with his nose scrunched up at the remaining flavour on his tongue.

“What--Of _course_ not!” Oswald squawked. “I had _two_ at the most.”

“Still, you taste awful,” Ed concluded before capturing Oswald’s sputtering lips in another warm kiss. The taste didn’t really matter too much when it was paired with Oswald’s hand squeezing his own, Oswald tongue brushing against his, Oswald’s lips pressed to his sweetly, Oswald’s hair, soft beneath his fingers.

“You’re a dream,” Ed whispered as they broke away.

“Most would say ‘a living nightmare’ so I’ll take it,” Oswald joked, self-deprecating smile smoothing out into something more sincere as Ed’s hand slipped down to stroke his cheek. “Edward, about last night-”

“Please, don’t,” Ed interrupted, knowing exactly what Oswald was going to say and not at all ready to hear it.

“But we have to talk about her, Ed,” Oswald insisted, hand tightening around his own.

“I-I know. Just… Not yet? Please?” Ed pleaded. “I promise that, soon, we’ll get up and get dressed and then we can talk. But, right now… I just want to be here with you. Only you. I don’t want her here, shading the sunlight.”

“Okay,” Oswald agreed, voice nearly a whisper.

“Thank you.” Ed’s hand returned to stroking Oswald’s cheek, slowly slipping upwards into his wild bird's nest hair. Oswald’s eyes remained soft, brow furrowed with concern.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Ed? I hate to think…” Oswald trailed off, something deep and desperate swimming in his pale blue eyes.

“Shh,” Ed soothed, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of Oswald’s mouth. “You-you helped more than you know, Oswald. I… I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

“You don’t have to,” Oswald told him. “I would redo it all again in a heartbeat if it meant you were safe.”

“I do feel safe,” Ed whispered. “With you, I feel safe.”

“Well, thank God for that,” Oswald whispered, a relieved smile gracing his features. Ed’s heart fluttered in his chest as Oswald shuffled closer and buried his face in Ed’s shoulder.

“How much time do we have until we need to get up?” Ed asked despondently, resistant to the stomach-dropping idea of getting up, putting on his glasses, and facing the world again.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps half an hour or so?” Oswald theorised, nose digging into the crook of Ed’s neck.

“Perhaps, before then, we could…” Ed trailed off as Oswald pulled back, sitting up.

“Of course.” Oswald dragged the palms of his hands down Ed’s chest, and he shivered. “What did you have in mind?”

Ed swallowed. “Maybe just… hold me? At least for a little while.”

“Of course. Of course, I can do that,” Oswald assured him, laying back down beside Ed. Ed sighed, smiling a little as Oswald pulled him back into his arms. Chest to chest, their heartbeats synchronized. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, a hushed whisper in the dark.

“Yes. Yes,” Oswald responded, equally quiet. Oswald’s chin tilted up and Ed’s tilted down, their lips meeting with a firm urgency. They moved together, tantalizing licks into each other’s mouths, chests rubbing, one of Oswald’s hands coming up to gently stroke through Ed’s hair. It was incomprehensible to have a slayer of souls tenderly caress him like he was fragile, wafer-thin glass. Not when Edward had seen that very same man in his battle gear, swinging swords and toppling dragons.

 _I don’t deserve you,_ Ed thought but didn’t say because he knew that Oswald would never have agreed.

Oswald kissed him harder, mewling like he wanted it. Ed let the tide pull him in, feeling the crashing waves swallow any further whispers of self-doubt as he sank below the surface and drowned in Oswald’s touch. Hands roamed and heartbeats quickened until Edward was crying out and shaking in Oswald’s grasp, the world gone white behind his fluttering eyelids.

Hand slick and wet, he reached for Oswald, peppering his pleasure-contorted face with kisses as he brought him off. When Oswald collapsed and Ed’s hand grew sticky, they laid there together for a while. Ed wondered how he was supposed to stop this. How could he possibly get up and get dressed and go out to their jobs, pretending this had never happened?

“Guess that’s proof, then,” Oswald spoke, disrupting Ed’s thoughts.

“Proof of what?” Ed questioned, quirking his brow.

“Proof that we can actually do that without being at least halfway intoxicated,” Oswald told him, grinning mischievously, Ed shook his head at him before planting a kiss on the corner of those pretty, flushed pink lips. Oswald hummed, brushing his nose against Ed’s, making his face tingle.

“I-I, um, I was thinking,” Ed began, waiting patiently as Oswald pulled back. “Perhaps we could call in sick? Just for today. I just want to be with you for a little while.”

“I’d like that,” Oswald murmured, blinking slowly like a cat. Out of the silence, two stomachs rumbled loudly, making Ed huff a laugh. “Perhaps we should procure some breakfast, though,” Oswald suggested with a laugh.

“As long as we come straight back,” Ed agreed lightly, kissing Oswald’s cheek before sitting up against the headboard. “I suppose we have to get dressed?”

“Yes, Edward,” Oswald said, rolling his eyes. “We have to get dressed. Lord knows what Olga would say if we showed up naked.”

“Probably something in Russian, so I doubt it would matter, but I see your point,” Edward quipped, sighing as he pulled back the bed covers and dropped barefoot onto the Egyptian rug. He took a gander at their joint piles of crumpled clothing. “Perhaps I need something cleaner.”

Oswald rolled out of bed, hissing a little as he hobbled over. He grimaced at the pile. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.” He turned, heading for his closet. Ed watched on, hesitant to leave. What if something happened to Oswald while he was gone?

Oswald suddenly glanced back, catching Ed’s gaze before he blushed and cast it away.

“Edward,” Oswald began calmly. “If you want, I’ll go with you and wait once I’m finished.”

“Thank you,” Ed breathed, pressing his palms to his bare knees. He shouldn’t have let himself get so worked up by such a small thing, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

Oswald quickly selected things from the closet and his drawers, turning back for Ed’s opinion which he gave gladly. He watched as Oswald dressed, something fascinating in the reversal of the process, covering up Oswald’s beautiful skin so it remained solely belonging to Ed, something to treasure within his mind.

When he was finished, they held hands and walked to Ed’s room, Oswald’s other one occupied by his cane under Ed’s strict request. It was a strange yet undeniably sweet gesture to have his hand be held by another, making Ed’s stomach flutter and skin tingle. Ed dressed quickly, his stomach eager at the prospect of the word food.

Both finally dressed, they made their way down the wooden staircase, walking together into the grand dining room. Breakfast appeared to be set, a rack of toast, readily boiled eggs, a bowl of fruit, A coffee pot, teapot, a pitcher of orange juice, and milk, and--

“Isabella?” Ed gasped, his heart dropping to shatter on the black and white tiled floor, blinking rapidly in the hope that he may disperse the image in front of him.

Olga was standing with her arms crossed, one hand clutched around what seemed to be a rolling pin, silently fuming as she glared in Isabella’s direction. “Da,” she snapped. “She v‘un in before I can catch her and v’efusing to leave. So, I v’atch her.”

“Thank you, Olga,” Oswald was sounding remarkably calm, but when Ed allowed his gaze to slide in his direction, he saw the dangerous spark in Oswald’s eye, the screeching ravens in his hair, the tightening grip on Oswald’s cane until his knuckles were white. Oswald was poised to attack, but not only that; he was poised to protect. Ed felt himself take a deep breath, suddenly realizing he hadn’t inhaled in a while. With this newfound reassurance, he turned back to Isabella.

Isabella’s head tilted, her once beautiful features suddenly snake-like. She still had the red hair from the night before but, thankfully, had gotten rid of Kristen’s clothes in favour of her usual all-black attire. Her eyes gleamed like crystals as she regarded him, not-so-subtly moving her tepid gaze up and down Ed’s form. At last, she met his eye, some sort of illusion breaking as her mouth snagged down and her eyes dimmed.

And, at last, she spoke:

“They made me do it.” Soft, almost regretful. Like that meant something. Like it was an excuse.

Ed’s breath caught in his throat, ready to release itself in an explosion of words, an urgent attempt to make her understand that she is not the first to slit his soul, but her knife had cut deeper than many before her and it wouldn’t be forgotten. Much less, forgiven.

Alas, Oswald bet him to it.

“Olga, I wonder if the toast and tea have gone quite cold. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to warm us up another tray?” Oswald asked, tone clipped and overly-polite.

Olga sent one last boot-quaking glare in Isabella’s direction before she turned. “Da.” They all waited--tension highly strung and blood-thick--as she gathered up the tea, coffee, boiled eggs and toast rack, trodding away down the corridor until she reached the kitchen. Ed alone jumped when it slammed shut. Oswald simply smiled and walked to the head of the table, setting his cane to lean against it.

“Well,” Oswald gripped the back of his chair and chuckled to himself, a dangerous, violent chuckle; Ed could already see the blood staining his hands and the quick and graceful jabs of his knife as it plunged in, again and again, and again. “It seems,” Oswald continued, concisely swiping his index against the top of the chair as if checking for dust before he finally pulled the chair out. “-that somebody,” Oswald sat down, straightening his spine with the air of a king. Sharper than a blade, his gaze snapped to Isabella, pale eyes glowing like twin moons. “-owes us an explanation.”

Isabella inhaled sharply as if to speak, but Oswald cut her off.

“But, I shall make myself very clear.” Oswald paused to pour himself a glass of orange juice, the sound of the liquid spilling the only noise in the otherwise silent room. Oswald gestured with the pitcher to Edward, silently asking him if he wanted some. Ed shook his head. Oswald nodded, as if to himself, taking a mouthful of juice and holding it there before--at last--swallowing. He set down his glass. “After you have said all that it is you have to say, you are no longer welcome here.” Oswald paused again, just staring at her. Ed found his gaze flitting between the pair, wondering who would break first. In the end, it was Isabella’s whose gaze flinched away, Oswald ginning in triumph before he continued once more. “Depending on what you say, there are a number of options on how you’ll leave. And don’t mistake me; at least one of them is in a body bag.” Oswald took another sip of his juice before licking his lips dry. “So, talk fast.”

“My name is not Isabella,” she began. It sounded like an ending. Edward welcomed it, allowing himself to walk over to the table and take the spot to Oswald’s right as she continued to speak. “I changed it. Originally, I was designated number five-one-six-C.”

Edward desperately wanted to speak up, but Oswald shot him a look that told him it wouldn’t be wise.

Isabella took a breath. “I am a clone. Of Kristen Kringle.” Ed had to close his eyes and take a deep breath before focussing again, the weight of his glasses seeming heavier than usual as his body’s awareness heightened. “As far as I can tell, they were able to extract a tissue sample from her body and somehow use it to construct a full-sized version of her. I wasn’t the only clone, but I was the most successful one they had. They liked me.”

Ed gritted his teeth as he realized just why that was.

“They dyed my hair, of course,” she continued, tucking a strand behind her ear self-consciously. “To make the ruse more believable, I guess. Essentially… I don’t exist.” Her lips trembled and Ed hated it, hated that even now when he knew all that she was, seeing the face of Kristen Kringle morph into something frightened and hurt made him ache like he was solely responsible for putting it there.

“Prove it.” Oswald words echoed through the still air, slashing and dark. Quick as a crime, the knife-head of his cane was in his hand and he was stabbing an apple, pulling it up to his mouth to take a bite--all wicked teeth and sharp eyes. Edward had forgotten there was a weapon seated next to him, listening all the while, but now it completely occupied his mind; the idle drumming of Oswald’s bored, impatient fingers, the crunch of apple-flesh between his canines, the tip of his knife practically begging to pierce the skin and leave its mark. It played out in shivering slow-motion until the moment Isabella spoke again.

“Here.” She suddenly appeared on the other side of the table, as if she’d been there all along, taking a seat to perfectly parallel Ed. He felt the sudden urge to reach out and grab the knife from Oswald’s hand, and he probably would have if it hadn’t been Oswald wielding it. “Give me your knife,” Isabella requested calmly.

Ed opened his mouth to protest, but Oswald spoke first.

“No,” he said simply, taking another bite of his apple and lifting a brow as if daring her to question him.

“Fine, then you do it,” Isabella sighed, rolling her eyes. She placed her hand palm-down on the table before looking up at him expectantly.

“Do what?” Oswald questioned, smirking as if amused. None of this was funny.

“Stab my hand,” Isabella instructed.

Ed barely had enough time to form the beginning of a sentence before the knife embedded itself in the table.

Ed hadn’t been watching her face, but she didn’t appear to be hurt, even with the blood slowly spilling onto the dark wood, gleaming in the room’s yellowed lights. She hadn’t even cried out.

“Well,” Oswald pulled the knife back out, taking another bite of his apple, seemingly unconcerned by the blood smearing the lower portion of it. “That’s quite the party trick.”

“I can’t feel pain. Not an ounce of it,” Isabella told them fiercely, her hand remaining on the table. The blood continued to flow.

“Really?” Again, unhesitating, Oswald took the pitcher of orange juice and poured the citrus-heavy liquid over her hand. Ed watched her face this time. She didn’t even flinch. Oswald hummed, nodding to himself as he reached for his pocket square and handed it to her. She grabbed it thankfully and wrapped it around her palm. Ed became distinctly relieved they hadn’t picked the purple today.

“As interesting as this is,” Oswald began, finishing the apple after a few more bites and washing it down with juice from his glass. “You still haven’t informed us how you got here, exactly. That is; how you came to be a part of our lives in the first place.”

Isabella swallowed and began. “When Fish led her escape, I was part of the crowd. Most of the others were unlucky, they couldn’t hide like me--couldn’t pretend to be normal. The ones who could chose not to. It was just me. So I found a job, a quiet, non-descript job where I wouldn’t be suspected. I may be a clone, but I’m not stupid, this is a city of opportunities and I wasn’t about to waste my chance at a normal life.” She took a deep breath, looking at them both with deep, imploring eyes. “That’s all I ever wanted; a normal life.”

“Continue,” Oswald sniffed and twirled the knife in his hand, not an ounce of sympathy in his voice, and Ed silently thanked him because he didn’t think he could bear that from Oswald at this point.

“I had hoped to hide forever, but it seemed I was made for a purpose after all. Or, perhaps, a purpose came along and they decided they needed me. Either way, they tracked me down. Found me. Stole me back. Whatever you like.”

“Who?” Oswald questioned, knife pausing in its movements.

“Kathryn. She found me.” _Kathryn_. Why did that name sound so familiar? “Kathryn is the leader of a group known as the Court of Owls. Together, they oversee everything in Gotham.”

Oswald and him shared a look, silently recognising the woman as the same pearl-strung know-it-all who’d spoken to them at the Founders’ Dinner.

“Well,” Oswald drummed his fingers again, once, twice like the march-beat of a battalion, his other hand restarting the knife’s twirl. “It seems a meeting is in order. How do you suggest we arrange such a thing?”

“What? No!” Isabella shook her head firmly. “No, Mister-”

“Mayor,” Oswald interrupted, eyes flashing, knife fisted threateningly.

“Mayor Cobblepot,” Isabella amended. “Please, if you do anything to let Kathryn know I’ve failed, she’ll kill me, without question. You need to help me.”

“Isabelle,” Oswald began, huffing a disbelieving laugh as he laid the knife almost gently on the table.

“Isabel _la_ ,” she interrupted, obnoxious and loathsome. Ed had to fight the urge to stand up and splash the still-full pitcher of milk in her face. Oswald merely smiled, raising his eyebrows as if to say ‘like I could possibly care’.

“It seems to me that you have overestimated your worth. We certainly don’t need you here, we’re quite happy on our own, thank you very much,” Oswald told her, tone-overly sweet as he sipped his juice.

Olga chose that moment to reenter, bustling in with her tray; setting out the toast rack and boiled eggs neatly, pouring both Oswald and Ed a cup of tea each without the need for request.

“Don’t you agree, Olga?” Oswald asked, smiling cheerily as he leant forward to rest his chin on his folded hands. “I do think that it’s about time you show poor Miss Isabelle out. It would appear that she’s rather in a hurry.”

“Da,” Olga nodded, mouth twitching. It was the closest thing to a smile Edward had ever seen on her.

“Please, no!” Isabella cried. “Please, Mister--Mayor Cobblepot, y-you have to help me! I-”

“Oh, I _have_ to, do I?” Oswald tilted his head, his grin somehow completely exuberant and threatening at the same time. Blood covered teeth, dripping death; Ed could see it now.

“I'm sorry, but--as far as I'm aware--you’ve refused to negotiate on my terms so you’ve no reason to remain here,” Oswald shrugged, looking around the room as if searching for further comments. “Essentially… goodbye.”

Oswald's gaze flickered over to Olga, and in a moment, she sprang into action. Thick hands gripped Isabella's shoulders, physically pulling her up off her chair and onto the tile before pushing her towards the door.

“Proshchay, malen'kaya suka,” Olga chanted, smirking to herself.

“No!” Isabella’s scream rang out, sharp and desperate. “I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”

Oswald held his hand up and Olga stopped. Ed felt a thrill rush down his spine at the silent command.

“You’ll do what?” Oswald demanded, almost serene in his biting forcefulness. Ed shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a slight flush gracing his cheeks. 

Isabella shook away Olga’s hands, glaring back at her before she took a step forward. Ever the stubborn one. “I’ll give you Kathryn. Her address, number, whatever you need that I can give. Just, _please_ , don’t let her find out it was me.”

“Hmm,” Oswald hummed, leaning back thoughtfully with his brow furrowed before plucking his teacup up from the table and taking a sip. He exhaled a soft and contented _‘ah’_ before replacing his tea and resettling himself, crossing one leg over the other and folding his hands on his stomach, gaze refocusing on Isabella’s glassy eyes. Edward held his breath, waiting.

Finally, Oswald spoke. “I’m afraid that won’t be enough. But it’s a kind offer nonetheless, so please, enjoy the rest of your day.” Oswald made a shoo-ing motion with one hand before using it to pick up his tea and take another sip. 

“ _ **What?**_ ” Isabella asked, sounding just as flabbergasted as Ed felt. He couldn’t even begin to conceive of Oswald’s plans, only hoping that, whatever they were, they wouldn’t go awry.

“You heard me,” Oswald told her, smiling blandly as he took another sip of his tea.

“But-but,” Isabella protested breathlessly. Ed’s pulse spiked as he saw what appeared to be a tear trickling down her cheek, catching the light. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, silently reminding himself it wasn’t really _her_. “You need me! Both of you!”

“I’m afraid you’re quite wrong there,” Oswald informed her, smirking into his tea. Ed kept his gaze steadfastly locked on him, refusing to look at _her_ again.

“But, what about Kathryn?” She asked. “How can you possibly hope to find her without me?”

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Oswald reminded primly, placing his now empty cup in its saucer and pushing it back towards the kettle. “And, believe me, Edward and I are quite capable of finding Kathryn on our own.” What? How? Did Oswald know something he didn’t? Had he met with the court before perhaps? Or maybe he was a member of them. Oh my, how had he not seen it before? Of course, Oswald was a member, they could certainly use a man like him, power and influence was practically his middle name. Goodness, Edward had been so blind.

“Oh, really?” Isabella asked.

“Of course,” Oswald replied, all calm and collected. “Wouldn’t you say so, Edward?”

The focus in the room shifted and Ed’s heart momentarily stopped

“Huh?” Ed rasped, blinking at him dazedly.

“I’m sure a brain like yours can improvise a plan to sniff the court out without the need of Miss Isabelle over here,” Oswald prompted, looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, yes, well,” Edward cleared his throat awkwardly, subtly casting his gaze around the room. His eyes alighted upon the television set up in the distant corner of the room, having remained there ever since Oswald’s mayoral victory. “Perhaps a public announcement,” Ed began hesitantly. “The one thing a secret organisation would fear is being announced to the world. Surely, if we threatened their exposure, they’d happily agree to meet with us.”

“Well done, Edward,” Oswald replied smugly, meeting Ed’s eyes with something dark and desirous. “I can always count on you, the-man-with-a-plan.”

“Okay, okay,” Isabella interrupted, Edward frowning when his attention was annoyingly diverted back at her. “What is it you want, then?”

“Perhaps you could start with a kinder tone,” Oswald replied snarkily, making Ed snort. Isabella just continued staring at them both, waiting. Oswald sighed, pouring himself another cup of tea and adjusting his knife so it ran parallel to the side of the table. “Isabelle,” Oswald began, a sarcastic calm to his voice.

“Actually, it’s-” Isabella tried.

The knife thudded into the table, loud and shakingly terrifying. Oswald’s eyes were wild, fury suddenly surging in them, all sense of serenity lost. His nostrils were flaring, his fist still tight where it gripped the knife. Ed had forgotten just how little it took for Oswald to snap, how easily one could trip over the line when one didn’t know it was there.

“You,” Oswald took a shaky breath, the furious exhale the only sound in the room. Even Olga looked mildly startled. “-are trying my patience.” Oswald’s grip on the knife tightened, muscles visibly flexing as if to attack. Edward held his breath, hoping against hope that this wouldn’t end in disaster. “I hope you know,” Oswald began, tone no less threatening even as he let go of the knife to point a finger in Isabella’s direction. “The only reason you are still alive is because of him.” Ed’s startled at Oswald’s sudden vulnerability, finally noticing how glassy Oswald’s eyes had become, how shaky he was, ready to snap like a twig.

“Because I don’t think he could handle watching _her_ die again,” Oswald continued. Edward kept his eyes wide open because he knew if he closed them, he’d have to see it all over again _(Her body the colour of an October storm, eyes painted in green-grey, hair still bright and glowing as he remembered it had died a long time ago)_. “So, why don’t you just wait to answer my questions when I ask them, hmm?”

Isabella remained silent. It seemed that being grown in a lab hadn’t hindered her ability to learn when to freaking shut up. And Edward didn’t swear lightly.

“So,” and Oswald was suddenly calm again, forever unpredictable as he unsheathed the knife from the table and put it aside. He glanced up, meeting Olga’s eye with a nod. She nodded back before turning and leaving, everyone waiting until her footsteps disappeared down the hall. “How about you tell me what you can recall of last night.”

“Wha-”

“Although,” Oswald cut her off, cocking his head so sweetly it tasted like a mockery. “ _-essentially_ , what I am really looking for is an apology.”

“Wh-what?” Isabella stuttered. “B-but--I told you; they _made_ me do it.”

Oswald’s expression turned thunderous once more, teeth gritted like a barely muzzled wolf. “I saw the bruises, Isabelle. You can’t lie to me.” Isabella went pale, visibly blanching. Ed’s heart simultaneously dropped and leapt up his throat, threatening to boil over and spill across the dark wood table. “So how about you apologize, hmm? While you still have a tongue to speak with?” Oswald’s face was twitching, his eyes narrowed and dark.

“Y-you-you don’t understand! I-I never meant to hurt him, I-I swear,” Isabella spurted.

“Oh?” That mocking sweetness again as he sat back and folded his arms over his stomach. “Then, please, tell me where I went wrong.”

“He-he was trying to leave, you see,” Isabella explained desperately. “S-so, I grabbed him, that’s all.”

“Oh? Really?” Oswald asked, sarcasm barely masking his contempt. “That’s all?”

“W-well, no, perhaps not,” Isabella admitted. “I may have-” A buzzing like bees flooded Ed’s ears and drowned out the rest of her sentence, his eyes filling with tears as he remembered.

The sickening sound of skin connecting, the stinging in his cheek just before she grabbed it in her claws, nails digging in as she forced him to meet her wide, innocent gaze.

_You won’t hurt me. You never could._

Bile rose up Ed’s throat and he swallowed it back down along with his tongue, the mix burning all the way.

“Is that all?” Oswald was asking.

“And then, he kissed me.”

_Oh dear._

And, in a moment, Ed was heaving his guts out over the table. Coughing and sputtering, he jerked away from the potent smell. He hissed at the ugly yellow liquid pooled on the dark wood, assaulting his eyes life a yellow-fever nightmare.

“Ed?” Oswald had stood up it seemed because now he was hovering right beside him.

“S-sorry,” Ed whimpered, groaning feebly at the rawness in his throat.

“I clean.” Olga had reappeared, tapping him on the shoulder in a silent request for him to stand. He did, stumbling a little on his shaky legs before being pulled into Oswald’s arms.

“Are you okay?” Oswald whispered.

“Fine,” Ed mumbled into his shoulder, inhaling Oswald’s scent to block out the lingering stench of vomit.

“I am so sorry, Edward,” she said, and Ed tremored because it was still that voice, _her_ voice, soft and sweet and utterly the same.

“I’ll find you a safe house. It should be ready for you within the next twelve hours,” Oswald said, his hand coming up to rub blessedly soothing circles into Ed’s scalp. “The quality is entirely dependent on how well you cooperate, so don’t try anything… _stupid_.”

Beautiful silence where Ed could pretend it was just them, locked in an embrace with only the stars glinting down at them as their witnesses.

“You will remain here for however long it takes me with Edward.” _(Yes, that’s how his name was supposed to be said; Edward, Edward, Edward)_ “When I come back, I trust you’ll be ready to talk.”

More silence where Ed kept his eyes shut until Oswald’s arm dropped down to circle his waist. They walked a few paces before Ed remembered Oswald’s limp.

“Please, Oswald, your cane.” Oswald didn’t move. “Please?”

“Okay,” he whispered, moving out of Ed’s space. Ed’s eyes remained steadfastly shut, arms curling around his body. “Here.” Oswald’s side reconnected with him, an arm reappearing around his waist as they walked together again, the tap of Oswald’s cane sounding very, very distant.

They reached the stairs, Oswald muttering a small warning before they began to climb. Oswald continued to guide him until after they’d reached the landing and they were pausing outside a door, so Oswald could transfer his cane to the other hand and open the door. Edward was led inside and gently prompted to sit on a bed. Brushing his hand over the covers, he recognised the quilt as his own, the very same one that he’d sewn together himself all those years ago. Edward recalled how happy he’d been when Oswald had shown him he’d saved it, presenting it like a beautiful gem, newly cleaned but just as familiar.

Ed tipped backward, curling up against the soft fabric and nuzzling it with the side of his face.

“Would you like me to run you a bath?” Oswald asked from the foot of the bed, the mattress dipping and a gentle hand wrapping around his ankle.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Ed whispered, keeping his eyes closed and face buried. The mattress dipped by his head and a soft kiss was pressed to his cheek. Ed wished he could respond, but his body just continued to lay there, utterly motionless.

The mattress moved back as Oswald stood and left, the distant, beginning sound of pouring water _just_ reaching Edward’s ears. Ed laid there, lip trembling and something wet trickling from his eyes, and waited. About ten minutes later, faint footsteps sounded towards the room and the hand reappeared on his ankle.

“It’s ready,” Oswald murmured. Ed nodded, cheek squishing against the quilt. “God, Ed, I wish I could carry you, but I just can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Ed whispered. Concentrating, Ed pulled his arms beneath him and pushed himself up, back clicking as he straightened. Ed sniffed and, at last, opened his eyes. He blinked against the bright light, taking a moment before he stood properly, bent forward a little to ease the pressure on his aching knees.

“Here,” Oswald came forward and pulled him in by his waist, hooking his chin over Ed’s shoulder _(And it was like they were slow dancing in Ed’s apartment again, Ed pretending his heart wasn’t beating faster and faster, pretending that he didn’t actually care, pretending his view of Oswald was simply one of admiration and not of the man he’d accidentally dreamed about, waking with a shaky chest and a sticky mess were it really shouldn’t have been)_.

Oswald pulled back, taking Ed by the hand and leading him out the door, down the hall and into the bathroom. The bath was drawn with minimal extravagance, the only added edition appeared to be the lavender-scented oils and a new bar of soap laying ready on its dish. Ed felt a tiny corner of his mouth twitch up at these small touches. Oswald knew enough to hold back on fancy bath bombs, bubbles or salts, but he’d still made an effort to make it special, and Edward loved that.

Oswald gently turned him, looking into Edward’s eyes for silent confirmation before beginning to undo his shirt buttons, slowly undressing him piece by piece. When he was naked and shivering, Oswald smiled up at him reassuringly, removing his suit jacket and waistcoat before rolling up his sleeves.

“You’re not going to join me?” Edward asked before cringing at how weak he sounded.

“No,” Oswald shook his head, but his eyes remained warm. “I just want to take care of you for a while. Like you used to do for me.”

Ed nodded. “Okay.” He let Oswald take his hand once more and help him into the tub, stretching his legs out as far as he could in the space provided.

“I suppose I’ll have to spring for a bigger tub,” Oswald mused. Ed winced at the sound of clicking knees.

“Please, Oswald, your leg,” Ed protested.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got a towel,” Oswald told him. As if that made a difference. Ed sighed, rolling his eyes. “Hush, Edward, you’re supposed to be relaxing.” 

Ed huffed, crossing his arms indignantly. But, out of the blue, Oswald’s hands slid into his hair, massaging his scalp. Whatever shampoo Oswald was using smelled _heavenly_ , and Edward couldn’t help but relax a _little_ , letting himself to loll backwards and enjoy the sensation of Oswald’s care.

And, as Oswald’s hand moved from Ed’s hair to his back and then chest, Edward finally allowed himself to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Next chapter will also have some plot. I might also do an epilogue if I feel like it, but no guarantees. Anyway, as usual, any and all comments/kudos will be appreciated and loved. In case you're wondering, it's actually not the middle of the night for once, so there's a chance that I'm improving (again; no guarantees)


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